That Which Lies Ahead
by Jerrath92
Summary: The time has come for a new Ring-bearer and the one who chooses to escort it to the mountain of fire is one who seeks nothing other than the chance for his brother to no longer live in his shadow. Some movie elements/storyline. M for gore and violence.
1. Chapter 1: Passing of the Ring

_**PLEASE READ:**_**I do not presume to know all of Tolkien's works, names, or indeed the languages he created. However, since my first viewing of the Fellowship of the Ring nine years ago, I have formed my own version of the story with the "destroy the Ring" storyline, though it has taken me a very long time to put it into words that I can take pride in. Most characters remain the same, some are brought in from far places to participate. Some things may seem unlikely or improbable, but I ask that you have patience and just try to enjoy the story simply for the love of reading's sake. We all critique and have our doubts, but we respect each other because the art of writing is a very complex thing. If you have questions, I would be happy to answer them because the last thing I wish for is for someone to be confused, so I will answer in the best way I can to make things clear, even if that means revealing some of the plot line.**

** Boromir, Haldir, and Grima Wormtongue were always my favorite characters and I wished very early on for them to be given a chance to (possibly?) form a friendship. Some concepts and characteristics still apply while others have to be fiddled with, remodeled, and renewed to create the story that has been brewing in my head for nearly a decade. Thank you for your kindness.**

Countless ages of searching, hoping, and waiting and at last, it had been found.

First news had reached Gondor with an Elven rider on horseback who carried word and request from the Lord Elrond of Rivendell that a host from each of the West countries be present at the meeting in the Elven outpost, which meant that Gondor would have to offer up its sons. Denethor the Steward who had long guarded the throne until the true king claimed it had asked his firstborn Boromir to travel north and take up a position in his stead at the Council while Gondor's newly reclaimed defenses would be overseen by Boromir's younger brother Faramir. With great reluctance to leave his people, Boromir had eventually given in and the day after the rider appeared in Minas Tirith, he set out on horseback. Not four days into the journey he awoke in the dead of night to find his brother sneaking into his small enclosed camp. Enraged, Boromir had ordered him to return to the capital, but Faramir refused, stating that he had left the river city Osgiliath in care of Bereg, a very capable lieutenant. And so the brothers had gone north in each other's company, traveling through the spring and summer months, having almost no trouble besides occasional rain storms. When October had almost passed into history they came upon the hidden dwelling of the Elves, arriving in unison with Elves of different realms, Dwarves, and men.

Now as they sat in an almost complete circle around an eloquently carved stone tablet they recalled the names of those around them whom all had been introduced by Lord Elrond himself. The Elven leader had flowing, flawless brown hair set with a silver headpiece that fit around his mid-forehead, but this was not what struck the others as impressive. It was his demeanor, the power he commanded with his very presence. There was an ageless sense of seriousness in his deep blue eyes. His hands were tucked deep into the folds of his robes as he stood tirelessly overlooking the members of the council.

Boromir and Faramir had met up with their neighboring country's royal family the day before. King Théoden had come in a rich red outfit trimmed with royal green and a cloak, demonstrating his importance but not seeking it out. He was properly disguised as a traveler, though perhaps the brilliant golden color of his hair was too healthy for a beggar. He had left Rohan under the rule of his son Theodred. His sword sat on the floor at his side between him and his nephew Eomer who had much longer hair, slightly darker in color and a harder look about his young face, for he had been the one to seek out Orcs and other fell beasts in his homeland of Rohan. To Boromir's utter surprise Eomer's sister Eowyn had also journeyed this way, a thing unheard of for women in general, but especially for women of the Court. She was not present now, for Elrond had claimed that the words passed at the Meeting were not fit for a woman's ears, but she would be waiting to hear news from her brother and uncle as soon as it ended.

Of the twenty of them gathered, Boromir could not remember every name, though the ones he could recall only came to him because their owners gave off an aura that was not quite normal. Of course he already knew Gandalf the Gray, or as his father and people called him, Mithrandir, the wizened wizard who had visited Minas Tirith many times throughout the years. In the back of Boromir's mind he recalled the stooped old man being present whenever a great change came over the Steward's family; his father told him that Gandalf had seen Boromir's birth as well as Faramir's. Now that Boromir thought properly, he could see the wizard's face sticking out in the crowd at his first victory celebration. Gandalf was present at Boromir and Faramir's triumphs more often than their own father and the only time that he was not had been the last reclaim of Osgiliath.

On the wizard's right sat a Halfling, a small being dressed quite humbly who was looking as if he wished nothing more than to sink through his chair and never be seen again under the overpowering feel of the Council. Four Elves were seated on Faramir's right and unlike the men and Dwarves, none of them spoke. Three of them had a similar embroidery design on their traveling cloaks but the fourth was garbed in forest green. He had a rather pointed face, but unlike his kin, his eyes were fixed on the Halfling with either great fear or great interest. Elrond had stated his name to be Haldir, lone host to the Lady Galadriel of Lothlorien. On the other side of the four Dwarves sat three more men, two of similar attire to the common traveler, but the last was a sight the likes of which Boromir had never before seen.

His ears were hidden, but Boromir assumed him to be a man, for his hair hung in black curtains around his colorless face. One of his eyes had a slight veil to it, but both were pale blue, almost bright enough to be torches of light in the darkness. His cloth was a black journey piece to his knees where from there patched gray leg wrappings went down to his shoes. There hung an evil-looking gold and black necklace on his breast and the very thing seemed to be sucking the purity and light out of the air. While the Dwarves, Elves, and men leaned away from the man, Gandalf whispered unheard words to him and the man frowned deeper since his face seemed incapable of wearing a smile. His eyes lingered on Boromir for a moment and Boromir felt the sudden need to grasp his sword for protection, though he couldn't say why. The man whose name was Grima Wormtongue was here on Gandalf's invitation as the wizard claimed, but there was just something abnormal about him.

The council members were doing their best to ignore him, but one who refused to stop scowling at him was Eomer who was regarding Gandalf's guest as if he were lower scum than the worst of Orcs or Goblins. Noticing his nephew's expression, King Théoden placed one finger on Eomer's arm.

"The time to begin this Council is now," began Elrond, spreading his arms wide as a symbol of welcome, "and now I convene it. To satisfy your thirst for the truth, I shall quench it. Strangers from distant lands, friends of old, you have been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor. Middle-Earth stands upon the brink of destruction. None can escape it. Either you will unite or you will fall. Each race is bound to this fate, this one doom. Bring forth the Ring, Frodo."

The Halfling rose, making almost no difference from when he had been sitting and ambled forward with his hand reaching into the depths of his pocket. He extended his hand, no bigger than a child's, and placed an object on the stone tablet. As he drew back a collective silence fell over the Council and each of them locked their eyes on the One Ring, a seemingly innocent piece of jewelry. It looked quite ordinary, a regular ring of gold, but somehow it radiated an evil power that Boromir felt working inside of him. He could feel something in his chest pull him an inch or two forward in his seat almost as if he were a fish and the Ring was the fisherman, reeling him towards it on an invisible line. The power in that one piece of gold made a cold shiver run down his nape.

As the Hobbit went to sit down, he passed in front of Grima Wormtongue who made an involuntary movement with his hand, flexing his fingers as if to grasp something. His action did not go unnoticed by Eomer who seemed to be waiting for an opportunity to speak out against him.

"Does your master command you to claim the Ring, Worm?"

"Grima is here on my invitation and I would see him treated with respect, not judged by decisions made for him that he had no control over," said Gandalf firmly. "I give you this one warning, Eomer. Do not let your sense of loyalty to your family and country hinder your ability to befriend a stranger who wishes for peace as much as you."

It seemed that Eomer dare not speak out again when Gandalf looked incredibly foreboding. Grima, meanwhile had said nothing or even looked in Eomer's direction, but rather had focused his gaze on the object of interest.

"Have no doubt; this is the One Ring, Isildur's Bane, and Sauron's greatest yearning. It has been carried thus far by Frodo Baggins of the Shire so that we may here decide what to do with it."

"I believe the question is: what is expected of us to do with it?" added Gandalf, his eyes sweeping through the company at present. "There is no mistaking the great Evil stirring in Mordor now that Sauron knows that his greatest weapon has been found. He will send out legions of enemies to claim it and though it is well hidden from prying eyes, Rivendell is not the place to store the Ring. We cannot allow it to fall into enemy hands or the world will see no more peace, no rest from tyranny. Ask yourselves, what is the obvious explanation for what to do with it?"

Elrond nodded his agreement. "You have only one choice; the Ring must be destroyed."

"That is quite easy to say, but how is it do be done and by whom?" asked Théoden.

"Where was it forged?" posed Elrond. " Sauron created it inside Mount Doom with the fires originating from its depths and it is there that it must be taken, cast down into the abyss just as it should have been done when it was severed from the Dark Lord's hand. It is in the land of Mordor that the Ring must be taken by one willing to face indescribable peril. It is not a task to be taken lightly by one who would seek to alter their course and stray from the set path. The responsibility shall be given to whoever wishes to commit themselves to the journey, the Ring, and the curse it bears. Be warned, however, that the power of the Ring will be far greater than any mortal force you have ever encountered or heard of. It will seek to deceive you, mislead you, and dispose of you so that it may return to its master."

Now a ripple moved through the Council, causing each to stir in his place. They all shared the same thought; which of them would take up the burden? It was not simple, as Elrond had said, but the Ring could not be escorted by anyone. From the rumors of the Halfling's journey, Frodo had had a near death experience carrying the Ring to Rivendell and he was passing through far more friendly country than the new Ring-bearer would have to travel. No, the Halfling could not be allowed to journey on into dangers unbeknownst to all present, even the elderly and wise.

Who, then, would take it? Who would be able to withstand corruption at the figurative hands of the Ring and, in essence, Sauron himself?. On all sides of him Boromir could see no one looking willing to offer himself up for the task, though at the same time none could refuse watching the Ring as if waiting for it to choose its Bearer, someone who seemed strong, but would crumble at the Ring's most opportune moment. On his right Faramir placed two fingers to his lips in thought and then very slowly turned in his seat to meet his brother's gaze. They shared a look of deepest thought, for they knew what the other was rolling over in his mind: their father.

If either of them were to volunteer, what would their father expect of them? Denethor had made it very clear to Boromir before he set out that the Ring could be the very object to save their people from further slaughter, to restore Gondor to its former glory and earn the respect and admiration of Rohan, its ever stronger brother. The Ring could bring back life to their people, but that was not the reason for Boromir's urge to claim it. His brother had lived in his shadow, always been second best to him, and always had to endure their father's unloving criticism. Faramir was nothing in Denethor's eyes but the cause of his beloved's death, for Boromir and Faramir's mother had passed on to the next world as she brought Faramir into the present one. For this, Faramir had never had the love of his father, which was why he had followed Boromir, to escape their father's wrath, for they both knew that if Faramir had stayed behind, Denethor would have sought out every opportunity to compare him to Boromir and point out his flaws. His brother deserved so much more than what life had given him in place of what their father should have given him. If they took up the burden together, chose the road to probable death and likely failure, but succeeded, Denethor might just come to forgive Faramir for something that his son had never intended.

Boromir did not know whether his brother was under the influence of the same thoughts, but if he made the decision, Faramir would side with him, he was certain. Across from him he saw that Gandalf's eyes were on him, penetrating his very being as if—almost as if—he _knew _what thoughts were brewing in Boromir's head. He rose slowly from his seat, feeling the eyes of the Council on him and exhaled. His voice did not falter as he trailed his gaze from Elrond, to Frodo, to Gandalf.

"I wish to accept this task."

He thought he saw a shadow of a smile flicker over the wizard's face and then saw utter relief on the Halfling's while Elrond regarded him with a stern raise of his symmetrical eyebrows.

"And what reason do you have that leads you to believe that you are better suited than all who sit here?" asked the Elven Lord and Boromir felt a small twinge of fear. Elrond could foresee certain things; had he seen Boromir's use of the Ring or perhaps Boromir's wish for taking it? He could very well have suspicions that Boromir was acting on his father's behalf and not his own.

"I seek no other use of the Ring than to carry it to its place of destruction. I would not take it for myself or for any other, least of all one who would use it for personal gain," said Boromir, hoping that Elrond read the underlying meaning in his words.

After a moment, it seemed that Elrond appeared satisfied with his answer and the latter then appealed to the Council. "If there are any here who see a valid reason to deny Boromir this quest, let him now speak."

Hope kindled in Boromir's heart as he examined the Councils' faces, all of which were showing signs of surprise and sorrow, but not disapproval. Elrond bowed his head respectively and beckoned Frodo to him.

"If it is well with you, I bid you pass your burden on, Frodo Baggins, to the new Ring-bearer."

Frodo seemed ever so small standing before Boromir as he removed the Ring from the tablet and held it up for Boromir to take, but as he placed it in Boromir's palm, his very form seemed to grow in size. Boromir saw a strong being, one who had not been led astray and one who willingly handed his burden over because he trusted that Boromir would see the task through to the end. The Hobbit had faith in him.

"I would accompany him," said Faramir, standing up to come to Boromir's side.

"Of course, this task cannot be undertaken without companions," said Gandalf, rising more slowly in his old age. "If there are those here who wish to escort the Ring and its bearer, have them step forward now."

As one, Haldir, Grima, Théoden, Eomer, and one of the two men travelers stood up, but the number of supporters did not shock anyone more than Elrond's act of stepping down from his elevated seat and joining the company. Even Gandalf displayed genuine surprise at the Elf Lord's decision.

"Boromir, we pledge here to protect you on your quest as far as we dare go, whether that be one league or one hundred thousand. This company, this Fellowship shall help you achieve this goal, if you are certain that you wish to undertake all the perils the Ring has to offer."

The Ring was heavy in Boromir's hand, heavier than any other of its kind, but not to the point where he could not hold it. The cool metal licked his palm as he closed his fingers around it for the first time.


	2. Chapter 2: Strengths Not Yet Known

Gandalf had bidden that they set off at first light and so with instructions for those in Boromir's company to retire early, he sought more council with Elrond to discuss finer details. Boromir and Faramir returned to their shared abode overlooking the east waterfalls and valleys many miles below the outpost. Here Faramir sat down heavily upon his bed and put his face in his hands. Boromir thought it best to not disturb his brother at the moment and therefore began selecting the items he had brought with him and deciding whether or not to pack them on this new journey. He would most certainly be bringing his faithful sword and shield as well as his horn, but there was little else he deemed necessary to burden himself with. Now that he was to carry the Ring, any additional weight would only hinder him.

The trinket was now strung on a thick silver chain about his neck, hidden beneath his tunic and leather armor. Elrond had presented him with the chain as a more secure way of carrying the Ring to ensure that he always had it close by, for a pocket was a storage compartment of the most unreliable sorts. The golden jewelry piece was still rather cold against his breast and he felt a chill every time it bumped against his bare skin. This was a sensation he would have to grow accustomed to, for the road to Mordor was not an easy or short one and he would spend many days to come with the Ring borne around his neck.

Stuffing his unimportant items away, he strode out of the room, selecting one of the outer balconies to travel as darkness settled in and the cool night air swept through the dwelling. News of a new Ring-bearer had reached many Elven ears, though for his own safety Elrond and Gandalf thought it best to not reveal Boromir's name. Many curious eyes watched him walk by from different alcoves above, on eye level, and below his path and he could not help but feel that they somehow knew that he bore the Ring. He came to a rest at a fountain with a graceful male face as the centerpiece spewing water from its mouth, resting his knuckles on the edge of the basin as he stared down at his reflection in the shimmering mirror.

His vivid hair shaped his face with certain nobility, reminiscent of his father's visage. He alone had inherited Denethor's facial features and personality whereas Faramir was the image of the mother Boromir could hardly remember. His brother…

Had he sealed both of their fates in volunteering himself up for such a deadly task? His intentions were of the best sort: to give Faramir an honorable future and yet both of them could very well be denied the luxury of a future if they did not succeed. Had his inner greed had a hand in his decision making? No, it could not be possible; Gandalf himself had given Boromir the motivation to speak out by way of eye communication. He could not have mistaken that sign at least…

Rather than hearing the sound, Boromir sensed that which was not there to hear and quickly turned, casting his eyes away from his reflection. The Elf Haldir stood behind him, arms at his sides and a passive expression on his face.

"Your reactions are quicker than that of most men I have seen," he commented, observing Boromir with his bright blue eyes.

This was the first time Boromir had heard the Elf speak and was surprised at the silky yet serious quality of it. Most Elves had indifference smoothed over their delicate tones, but there was underlying anger, or so Boromir read, in this one's voice.

"I wish to express gratitude for your decision to accompany my brother and me," said Boromir, nodding his head in respect.

"I would not see the Ring borne south without at least one Elf in accompaniment. You will be glad of my presence."

"Of that I already am. I am grateful to each and every individual who is to escort the Ring into Mordor. I have not had many dealings with Elves, as I understand that you are a primitive and proud folk, but I hope that you will hold no grudge against me on account of whatever my father or people have done."

"I hold no ill will towards your people, Ring-bearer, but I cannot lie and say that I express love towards certain others."

"Are they within the Fellowship?"

Haldir's eyes glistened for a moment and then he shook his head. "No, but nameless individuals within are of the same kin." He had a certain look about him that said that he did not want to discuss the subject any further. Boromir returned his gaze to the fountain, contemplating whether or not to try and strike up some new conversation, but Haldir took over for him. "You doubt your ability to do what is now expected of you." It was not a question.

Boromir knew nothing of this Elf, did not trust him enough to spill out his darkest fears, but somehow he felt calmed by Haldir's presence. The Elf would not judge him like men and Dwarves would. He nodded somewhat hesitantly. "I doubt my ability to complete my task and also protect my brother."

"It is for your brother that you seek to complete the task, is it not?" asked Haldir knowledgeably. "You have wisdom beyond your years and it is for the very reason that you say you are not capable that I believe you, for one who is too confident in himself does not see the dangers that lie ahead. You are well chosen to be the Ring-bearer, son of Gondor."

"How can you be so certain when you know so little about me? How can you have so much faith in me when I keep none for myself?"

"I am your follower and companion now and therefore I must put my trust in you if I am to survive. My loyalty is not easily swayed and I do not make hasty assumptions; what I say is what I believe to be true and what Lord Elrond and Gandalf know to be true: you have promise."

"The Elves are not capable of dealing out lies, Boromir," said a new voice, that of King Théoden's as he arrived at the fountain and trailed two of his fingers in the still waters. Boromir bent forward at the knees to show his respect towards the king, but Théoden touched his head tenderly with his hand.

"In essence, we are family in brother countries. I do not wish you to bow before me, for I am someone of no consequence in comparison to the one who bears the Ring. I would first bow to you before I were to expect such respect again. You must do me this honor of treating me as your equal, along with my nephew and niece."

"The Lady Eowyn will be staying behind in Rivendell?" Boromir guessed.

"This perilous journey is not hers to take. I believed the road to this Council to be manageable for her, though I thoroughly expected that we might have to part ways. I have her word that she will take my place as high ruler of our people if Eomer and I are to fall during this quest. She will remain here until I send word for her that the roads are clear enough for her to travel home and even then she will go with an escort."

"Is she not capable of wielding a sword?"

"She is very capable, though the act is frowned upon. She insisted at a young age of learning how to use reliable weapons and I taught her with equal enthusiasm, though few know of her abilities. She is, perhaps, not as learned as her brother, but she has the same determination that has long guided our people and unlike her brother, her heart is open and willing to accept nearly everything or anyone in."

"Indeed, I took note of how Eomer was quick to pounce on Grima's actions."

"It is because of where the man comes from and whom he serves, not who he is, but alas, the first two factors are what make him who he is, which is why it is so difficult for my nephew to control his anger. You know that since Gandalf has arrived in Rivendell Saruman has begun to attack my borders and Eomer cannot bear the shame of being so far north when our people are in need. He openly demonstrates his hate for Saruman, and Grima Wormtongue does not lessen his emotions by being here."

"Why is that?" asked Boromir and only when the king and Haldir gave him similar looks of astonishment did he realize that he had missed a vital bit of information from Gandalf.

"Have you not wondered why Grima is here on Gandalf's invitation?" asked Théoden. "He was only allowed this far north and indeed, into Imladris, because of Gandalf's good graces. Grima Wormtongue was raised under the cruel white hand of Saruman from birth when he was taken from a dying mother. His father Galmod had displeased Saruman who demanded payment, being Grima. Saruman taught him all he knows and though Gandalf may think that he is to be trusted, the rest of us have our doubts. I do not scorn him for his father's mistake, but I am wary of him, for it would be much like Saruman to plant a traitor in our midst."

"How would Saruman have known that we were convening the Council?" asked Haldir plainly. "I do not know how Gandalf managed to pry Grima from Orthanc without Saruman knowing, but I believe that Grima is doing his best to act on his own free will and lend aid to the Ring-bearer. He could have easily slunk away and returned to his master to report news of a Fellowship bound for Mordor with the Ring of Power in hand, but he chose to accompany us, which does not strike me as something that a spy would do."

"The white wizard is crafty, my friend, and he will know how to manipulate us one way or another, be it by Grima's hand or not."

"How is it that the two of you know this, but I do not?" asked Boromir inquisitively.

"Gandalf informed us all of his guest before you and your brother joined the Council," Théoden explained.

Boromir felt a twinge deep within him of hurt. He had not often felt this emotion, for he had always pleased his father and therefore never earned disdain unlike his poor brother, but the fact that Gandalf, who had encouraged him to take action, did not see fit to tell him that Grima Wormtongue was a man under Saruman wounded him. Did Gandalf deem the information unimportant or irrelevant or did he just not trust Boromir with it?

As if in answer to his question, Gandalf suddenly appeared beside Théoden, leaning heavily on his twisted brown staff. He held out his arm, beckoning Boromir to him. "Come, I have much to explain to you before we set off at dawn and this is for your ears alone. Privacy is not something that will be granted to you on the journey, so we had best speak now."

They left Haldir and Théoden at the fountain, walking deeper into the outpost until the sounds of laughter and song had all but faded and there were no more eyes to be seen anywhere. Gandalf sank down onto a stone seat, laying his staff across his lap, but Boromir remained standing, watching the wizard with some resentment.

"You wonder why I did not tell you," Gandalf said softly, with eyes closed. Boromir made no reply since this was indeed what he had been wondering. Gandalf continued, "It was for a greater reason than you could know, but I will tell you this; your heart is not as quick to judge as many. When you first sat down within the Council, your eyes were drawn to him, not out of hatred, but out of curiosity while a majority of the others only regarded him with hate and resentment. You did not know anything about him other than his name and therefore, you did not seek to evaluate him. Your ignorance was your blessing, for you made no comment against his joining of the Fellowship, in fact, you willingly accepted the offer, but if I had told you who his master was beforehand, you might have had a change of heart for the worse and rejected him. Even now, as you process the truth about this man, you wonder if Saruman placed him in our company as the Ring-bearer's undoing, but you still kindle hope that Grima will side with us in the end. It is for that reason that I did not tell you."

"You say that my heart is not quick to judge. Haldir spoke of how I was well chosen to bear the Ring. Both of you speak of greatness which I do not think I have. I am well trained in the art of combat and I know of the history of this world, but I am nothing special. I am just one man rebelling against Sauron's evil. I don't seek praise for my decision, nor do I want special treatment. The reason that I do this is so that there may be equality in my family and addressing me as if I was a sort of king and leader among men is not helping my cause."

"We are not trying to make you into a champion, Boromir; we are simply trying to help you realize your own strengths."

"If I have any…"

"If you had none, no one would have stepped up to join you in your journey. Take note that a king, a lord among Elves, and a member of the Dunedain race have joined with you."

"The Dunedain?" asked Boromir. "I believed that race to have ended long ago."

"Aragorn is an exception."

The name stirred something in Boromir's memory, though he could not quite place it. He supposed that the stranger clad in travelling attire was this Aragorn. Casting the thought of a dead race aside, he considered Gandalf's words; great beings had willingly offered up their protection for him because of some strength he radiated and that was as comforting of a thought that it was possible to have.

"I suggest you take rest now, for first light comes early here and we must be ready to leave well before that."

Faramir was lying on his back, staring up at the arched ceiling when Boromir returned to their room. He gazed out their window, watching a night bird swoop through the view. The almighty yet calming roar of the waterfall could be heard in the distance.

"It isn't for glory, or even the chance to defeat Sauron that you chose to take the Ring, is it?" asked Faramir, looking at him with an all-knowing expression. "Lord Elrond may have seemed satisfied with your answer, but I know you too well, brother."

Boromir was not about to tell Faramir the real reason behind his motivation, for he would see the world crumble, see Gondor come to ruin if only to ensure that his brother would earn their father's love, for living a life of emptiness was not worth living, even if it was without fear from the evil stirring in the West.

"Get some rest, while you can," said Boromir and then lay down, turning away from his brother while the Ring pressed against his skin.


	3. Chapter 3: The Journey Begins

Perhaps it was the dread of his last night in a peaceful place or the fear of being the one to make decisions for the travelling party based on the Ring's power, but Boromir did not sleep well and the morning brought little comfort to him. He finally decided to ready his belongings when he sensed that the time to rise and be on their way was at hand. Lacing up his tunic and fitting his leather armor over his new burden, he placed his hand on Faramir's shoulder and gently shook him.

"It's time," he said quietly, hoisting his sack up and striding out the door without a backward glance. Down in the main courtyard he saw that he was not the earliest riser, for Grima stood with his hands folded behind his back, patiently waiting at the entryway. As Boromir approached he turned his head ever so slightly and acknowledged him.

"Ring-bearer," he said in a voice poisoned with torture.

"If you wish to address me, you may use my name, which is not Ring-bearer," said Boromir, keeping a reasonable distance though for a reason he could not tell.

"It is your title now, no longer son of the Steward, or Protector of Gondor."

"I would disagree; I remain the son of the Steward and I shall continue to defend my country."

"We often seek to do one thing when fate intervenes and prevents us," said Grima knowledgeably. He intertwined his fingers with the golden chain around his neck and held it up for Boromir to clearly see. "Had I not been enslaved, I would have sought to defend my own country."

"And which country would that be?"

"I was born under the green flag of Rohan, though I have never known the upbringings of its children. I was denied all relations to my people and for that they shun me, as you have seen with Lord Eomer who suspects that I am constantly being watched by he who claims himself to be my master. I have none!" he cried suddenly, covering the emblem at the bottom of the chain which had begun to glow with his palm. Noticing that Boromir was staring at him with a mixture of fear and concern, he lifted the crest without revealing it. "This is Saruman's way of discovering my whereabouts when my mind is weakest. I am able to block out his penetrating gaze if I choose to, which as of late I have, but there are moments when I feel my strength ebbing away and I must remove myself from all company and recognizable scenery so that he cannot tell where it is that I am."

Boromir felt uneasy. If this cursed necklace allowed Saruman to see the Fellowship's position, they were in far more danger than anyone could have anticipated.

_Gandalf could not have known about _this_ or he surely would not have allowed Grima into Rivendell._

Grima's veiled eye narrowed as he watched someone approach from behind Boromir who turned to greet Théoden, Eomer, and the Lady Eowyn who was dressed in a parting gown of white and gold lace. She had almost no color to her face, though it was far more beautiful than Boromir could have anticipated despite the fact that it was unsmiling in the process of bidding farewell. She stopped at the bottom of the stairs, locking eyes with Grima who bowed respectfully without words.

"We are to travel by horse," said Théoden, beckoning Boromir to the stables. "It is more likely to reveal our position to the enemy, but time is something we cannot afford to waste much more of and horses will be a great asset to us."

Boromir took little time in choosing a horse, for he knew which steed he desired: the one that had borne him thus from Gondor. It was a beast of a rich brown color named Mollen that had been faithful and strong over the course of their long journey north. Faramir's horse Gybryn was pale gray and equally majestic. These two horses were brought out into the courtyard by Boromir himself who watched the Fellowship gather with their horses one by one. Elrond was the last to appear, dressed far differently than anyone had seen him for countless years, for he had a lush green cape about his shoulders and a powerful yet also humble garb of dark gray all the way to his knees where his shoes began.

Swinging himself up onto Mollen's saddle, Boromir watched Eowyn bow before Théoden and raise her hand in farewell to her brother. Never before had Boromir seen such sadness and grief in one face, one that would radiate much more beauty if it were smiling. He took one last sweeping look of Rivendell, of its peaceful enclosure and its friendly solitude before he fell into line behind Gandalf and followed him out of the archway. Once they had crossed the stone bridge and navigated the narrow path out of the immediate mountains, they broke into two lines side by side. At the front were Gandalf and Elrond and behind them Boromir and Haldir. Eomer and Aragorn guarded the rear.

Boromir had observed the ranger with great interest, chiding himself for forgetting that which he knew he should remember about this man, but what could there be to know about him besides the fact that he was of the Dunedain race? He was poorly dressed and there was nothing about him that struck Boromir as important, though he certainly was impressive in his resigned manner.

Gandalf and Elrond conversed ahead of him and though what they had to say was of little interest to him, Boromir clung to every word, for theirs was the only conversation to be heard. The Fellowship was not one, for all had come from separate paths and did not know each other well enough to make an exchange of words, empty or not. The sun offered comfort against the chill of the early winter's day, but as it began to sink in the West. The road Gandalf led them on would take them between the Misty Mountains and the Bruinen River, though Boromir couldn't see how they could hold this course and not pass to closely to Isengard, for it lay directly in their path. The road South would be dangerous regardless, but it was foolhardy to try and slip around Saruman's territory unnoticed. At some point they would have to cross through the mountains, though when and where no one could yet say.

At nightfall they set up camp amidst a small tangle of trees, but didn't hobble the horses in case a quick escape was in order. With so little cover, Gandalf refused the luxury of a fire and so they ate their supper cold, pulling their cloaks closer around them to block out the winter's night. The moon was not out, covered by a stormy set of clouds that had come in shortly before the sun disappeared and so it was nigh impossible to see anything, save for that which was closest to each individuals' face. Gandalf volunteered for the first watch, promising to awaken Théoden when the time came. Boromir turned away from the wind to shield his face and folded his arms tightly across his chest. He could see Faramir placing his sword in an easily accessible position a few feet away and Grima tucking his hands deep into his armpits to warm them, but Haldir remained sitting upright with his eyes wide open, staring off into nothingness but not moving in the slightest. Boromir had often heard of how Elves could enter some rendition of sleep if they so desired, but they did not need to. He envied the Elf for being able to escape the unknown realm of dreams.

Closing his eyes, Boromir could see clearly the White City rising upwards before him in all its grandeur, though there seemed to be a great silence about it, almost as if it were deserted. High above on the outcrop he was surprised not only that he _could_ see, but what it was that he saw. His father stood weeping into the winds, his deep voice echoing off of every wall and pillar within the city. What did he cry for? What was there to-?

"Boromir."

Hand clenching around the Ring tucked beneath his garment, Boromir sat up in alarm to feel Gandalf's hand on his shoulder.

"Be silent, but listen closely," said the wizard. "Something draws near from the North on horseback. Ready your sword, but do not raise any sound as I alert the others." Boromir unsheathed his sword, reaching out for Faramir at the same time. When he found his brother's wrist he shook it and relayed the same message Gandalf had given him. Faramir notched an arrow into his bow, as did Haldir who came back into reality with a blink of his eyes. In no time the Company was standing back to back facing outward with their weapons ready and their ears keen for any noise. In this evil darkness it was difficult to interpret any sound or which direction it came from. On Boromir's left Grima had a knife in one hand and a short sword in the other, both of which looked deadly from what Boromir could tell, though he was not comforted to have Grima at his side. He doubted whether Saruman instructed Grima in the art of combat.

"It it close," Gandalf whispered. "Be ready."

The stretch of two bows could be heard as Haldir and Faramir took aim. Cold hands tightened around sword hilts and the Fellowship drew a collective intake of breath. Then they heard the clopping footfalls of the horse and it could not have been ten feet away.

"Come no further!" Gandalf suddenly called out. "Reveal yourself in name and do not draw a weapon if you value your life!"

The horse stopped and Boromir could just make out the silhouette of a cloaked rider above him before the horse came forward again with silence from its master. Raising his sword, Boromir prepared himself, instinctively moving his shield to the left to protect Grima from the likely brunt to come, but his companion had vanished. The horse neighed and reared up, which allowed Eomer to dart forward and grab its reigns as they heard the grunt of the rider being pulled from the saddle. A strong orb of light split the darkness in half as Gandalf's staff tip lit and cast itself out. They could see Grima holding his sword on the rider, poised to strike if that deemed necessary.

The rider was clearly a man, helmeted, and garbed in travelling clothes. Théoden and Eomer revealed that the attire was that of a Rohirrim soldier.

"Cast your helmet aside and let us see your face," Gandalf commanded.

The rider unbuckled the strap under his chin and slowly lifted it free of his face. Grima suddenly stumbled back, bending at the waist as he muttered, "Forgive me, my Lady."

Eowyn had no guilt or shame upon her face, but rather a determined roughness as she stood up and met her uncle's furious stare. "I known the ways of the sword and know the dangers likely to come on this journey, but I have lived my life watching those I love ride off into the distance while I remain behind to wait in vain for their return. Our people are well protected with Theodred as their ruler and I will not take up your position, uncle, if it would mean that I am to govern our people alone. All I care about is about to go forth into the land of shadow from which there is not likely to be a return. I would rather meet a glorious death beside my loved ones than sit in the Golden Hall and regret a decision that was made for me."

"You must go back," said Eomer darkly. "I will take you to Rivendell and there you will stay. The Fellowship will wait for my return here."

"We cannot linger," Gandalf disagreed. "We must press on, in the company of Eowyn if that is our only choice. We may yet find somewhere safe to leave her."

"I will not be left behind anywhere," said Eowyn, drawing herself up to her full height.

"Her mother's strong will is radiant in her," observed Théoden. "It seems we are left little choice but to let her accompany us." Eowyn's face lit up at this announcement, though her brother's fell.

Boromir did not wholly agree with this decision, though it was not his to make. He had no other reason for denying Eowyn their company other than to protect her from harm whereas Théoden's heart ached to leave her behind. The king had allowed her passage with him to the Council because he could not stand to abandon her. He now allowed her to come because he, like Boromir, wanted to keep his family with him to whatever end.

**NOTE: I do not presume to know the proper grammar in the Elvish language or any language and I am no expert on Tolkien's world. I hope you will bear with me when I say that some events from the movie and book must occur in order to lead to events of my own. This story is not predictable by any means but you may see recurring elements, though I pray that you do not lose interest because you believe that you know what is to come next. An example would be the army of Isengard that will make an appearance in this story.**

** On that note, please feel free to review and I will gladly respond if you so wish!**


	4. Chapter 4: A Greater Shadow

The cold was beginning to set in at an unforgivable rate as they continued on, now burdened with high winds and drowsiness from an interrupted sleep, though no one complained, least of all Eowyn who managed to produce a grim smile despite the dreariness of the situation. Boromir had asked Gandalf which road they were to take to avoid passing close to Isengard, but the wizard had no ready answer for him just yet. None of them wanted to pass within a hundred leagues of the white wizard's domain, but all other options were looking very bleak, if not even more dangerous. The Company was split on their opinions, for Eomer wished to travel directly south so as to confront Saruman, but Grima was highly against the notion. Each side presented his argument, but as the second day drew to a close and they bedded down in an overhanging slab of rock against the hillside for shelter, no one had come any closer to a solution.

It was Boromir's turn for the first watch and he sat upright against the rock, peering out into the night, wondering if any evil was just beyond his line of vision. He scratched absent-mindedly at his chest where he felt the Ring rubbing against his skin. In the space of two days he had felt its allegiance, or rather its power shift. When Frodo had first given it to him, he had felt a sort of reluctance that he could not explain within the Ring, but now he felt as if it had attached itself to him, delving deep into his person and exploiting his weaknesses. Frodo and Gandalf as well had explained how the Ring would use him, possibly weaken him, and seek to reveal him to its true master. Even now he felt something like a small pulse beating against his skin that wasn't his own, heard a harsh and dark whisper speaking words of evil in his ear (and it was only in his ear since the others could not hear the Ring's calling). He had not yet had the temptation to place the Ring on his finger, for he had not had to suffer the presence of the Nazgul, but he was warned of the dangers that they would pose to him and the Company if they came near him.

He knew _of_ them, but he had never seen them, despite living on Mordor's doorstep. How would the Ring affect him if the Nazgul came close? Would he be able to resist the urge to slip the piece of gold around his finger, or would he give in to an unwanted instinct? He was a man, capable of great things and much stronger than a Hobbit, but also much easier to manipulate. Was he better suited for the duty than Frodo Baggins had been? What did he have over the Halfling?

_Strengths unknown, accomplishment hidden…_

Aragorn stirred beside him. The night was silent, devoid of all life and all sound, which was not normal. Any other night would have been noisy with an assortment of crickets, owls, and all manner of nocturnal animals as well as the sounds of the wind rustling through the tall grass. But there was no sound or sight of anything besides his companions. The silence was unnatural and it made a chill run down the back of his spine.

Then he heard a scream so terrifying, so high pitched and horrible that he felt the skin on his chest push the Ring away towards the sound. It was the sound of tortured souls crying out with malice as they fell into the path of darkness. Gandalf sat upright, reaching for his sword, as did Elrond. The others followed suit a moment later, readying their weapons for battle as Haldir said aloud, "Nazgul!"

"Stand together and draw your swords; arrows are no use against the Black Riders!"

"I thought they had drowned in the Ford?" said Faramir, tucking his bow and arrows away and unsheathing his sword.

"Their cursed horses were, but it will take much more than roaring waters to rid the world of such evil," said Gandalf, lighting his staff once again. "They are drawn to the Ring, seeking out its bearer now that your presence is greater than its former guardian. Frodo was able to hide due to his small nature, but you are a man with greater presence, Boromir, and they know that the Ring travels with us. Do not let them separate us and do not leave Boromir's side, those who are closest to him."

Haldir and Grima took a step in closer to Boromir, but still managed to stay out of the way of his sword and shield. They, like Boromir, sensed the air growing even colder than the winter already made it. The night was dark, but the hooded figures emerging from it were even darker and multiple times more evil. Boromir could see his breath rise on the air and freeze in place. Behind him Eowyn gave a shuddering gasp and Théoden urged her to stay close to him.

"Be gone, creatures of Shadow!" cried Gandalf, raising his staff high with his sword.

Perhaps he was the only one to hear it, but Boromir listened to what sounded like the wind calling out his name and demanding that he turn over the Ring in exchange for his life. The hooded figures came within the light, unafraid, undaunted by the powerful light emitting from Gandalf's staff. They closed in, making for Boromir and the two on either side of him. The others meant little to them, for they somehow knew that he was the one to carry the Ring.

Hefting his shield up to protect his left side, Boromir prepared himself for battle. Haldir's sword rang out as it left its sheath and glinted bright silver with a golden hilt in the semi-darkness. It was a long, two-handed thing inscribed with Elvish markings. He held it close to his right side as the fallen warriors blocked them in. Grima had a different knife than the one he had wielded the night before in hand, but still his short sword in his right. His face was set, eyeing the Nazgul with concentration the likes of which Boromir did not see that he could have under such strain and fear.

The foremost Wraith lunged at Grima who parried the blow from the blackened sword with incredible skill. A second swept in to stab his exposed right side, but Boromir parried the blow with his shield and rammed his full weight behind the counter-attack to throw the enemy off balance. His sword sang, striking out left and right, defending Haldir and himself while also attempting to stab a vital spot on the opposition. He heard Gandalf roar words of fury; saw Eomer dive aside as another Wraith aimed a deadly blow at him. Théoden was hard pressed trying to protect himself and his niece who fought with a man's ferocity, but who lacked actual experience. She took a fall on a loose rock and hit the ground hard while Théoden continued to fend off one of her attackers, but before she could gather herself up another Wraith was upon her, plunging its sword down for the mortal blow, but Grima hurled into it, stabbing his knife deep into the folds of its cloak where its heart should have been. The attack had almost no affect whatsoever, but rather made the Wraith stagger back for a moment. In the time it took to recover Grima had positioned himself in front of Eowyn.

Now Aragorn was on Boromir's left, leaping outwards in an offensive attack. Behind him came Faramir, swinging his sword with an almighty cry of anger to mask the underlying fear he most likely felt at such terrors as these. His ferocity felled a Wraith momentarily and it disappeared into the shadows, but as Faramir was caught up in his own triumph, he did not see the attack coming in from his right. Boromir stabbed outwards with his blade to defend his brother, but as he held out the sword the Nazgul's blade slid along the edge and nearly cleaved his skull in two. He used his broad shoulder to shove his enemy backwards, but as the cursed blade released from his own, the tip sliced across his cheek, setting the skin on fire. He held his ground despite his body's protest in the presence of pain.

The Ring tugged at his neck on the chain, urging him to seek safety and flee into the night for his own protection and abandon the Fellowship. The voice begged him to take cover while his conscience told him to fight back and stand with his friends. The enticement that was overtaking him to cast his weapons aside and disappear nearly won against his better judgment as another hair-raising scream rent the air. Boromir released his hold on his shield and the strap slid to the end of his arm as he clenched the Ring under his armor.

A great heat at his back announced the existence of fire kindling, summoned by Elrond with his quick and knowledgeable skills. The Nazgul drew away and fled into the night as Haldir advanced with Gandalf and pulled Boromir towards the fire by his arms. The arm that Haldir took was tugged away from the Ring and Boromir had a sudden urge to strike out at him, though resisted as Gandalf cast light on his face.

"With which blade were you wounded?" he asked urgently. "Was it long or short?"

Boromir struggled to remember, for he had only seen it in the spur of the moment. He recalled the Nazgul's reach which had been long due to its large weapon. At last, he said, "It was a long blade, black in color." As he spoke he felt his skin stretch over his wound and winced, reaching up a hand to close it up.

"Sit, and I shall tend to that," Elrond instructed. "You are fortunate that it was by a sword and not a Morgul-blade that you were cut, otherwise your wound might have inflicted as much pain as Frodo had to endure on Weathertop. I can seal this up quickly so that we may move on tonight."

"Is anyone else wounded?" asked Gandalf, looking around at the Fellowship. Grima held out his hand to Eowyn and assisted her to her feet before backing away respectfully. Faramir and Aragorn sheathed their swords and drew in closer to the fire as Elrond smeared a poultice on Boromir's face which stung.

"Do they know that I am the Ring-bearer?" asked Boromir as he tried his best to ignore the pain. "They seemed to be drawing in close to me, but Haldir and Grima as well."

"It was because they protected you and the three of you fought as one," said Gandalf. "I saw that you fought in very different manners, but you moved in such a manner that you seemed like one enemy to the Nazgul, so they most likely could not discern which of you actually carried the Ring, but sensed that it _was_ one of you three."

"They will now be after each of you with equal vengeance. You are quite fortunate that the power of the Ring did not overcome your senses and cause you to slip it upon your finger, Boromir, for I fear that the damage might have been far worse than your cheek if you had. Your resilience to the power is impressive."

_Strengths unknown…_

"I have never heard such a terrible sound as that which my sensitive ears have received this night," said Haldir with an icy glare. "The Nazgul will now be trailing us for miles to come unless we can escape their pursuit into a realm which they would dare not follow." He exchanged a meaningful look with Elrond who in turn consulted Gandalf. The wizard sighed heavily, shoulder stooping as he hunched over his staff with a sudden weariness that had not been present before the mention of a different travelling road.

"What road is this that you speak of?" asked Faramir, following the Elves' gaze.

"Moria," said Gandalf in a foreboding voice.

**I would greatly appreciate any feedback you might have so that I may know how this story is going with the readers. Thank you for your time!**


	5. Chapter 5: Winter Wastelands

The name was a puzzlement to Boromir, for he had never before seen such fear in any man's face, least of all Gandalf's at the mention of a single word. Sauron's name, that title of the land of shadow and the mountain of fire, and the words used to describe fell beasts did not invoke nearly as much terror as the name Moria had on Gandalf's elderly features. Boromir didn't see what there was to be feared in Moria, for the place had long since housed Dwarves of familiar and friendly company, despite the fact that they had not been heard from for a small count of years. He doubted whether passing through the Mines would be nearly as dangerous as passing the Black Gates into Mordor, but the look on Gandalf's face was unsettling and he couldn't help but feel terrified himself at an unknown evil.

Gandalf had chosen a new path for them to follow which was south and east from Rivendell on a map. The country was open and unsheltered, which was why they often did not stop for many hours into the night until they came to a defendable shelter spot where they would often pass off dinner for a chance to sleep. Neither Elrond nor Haldir showed any signs of weariness from the harsh conditions, but even they spoke little in the long days of uneventful travel. Though no one complained, each of them could see who the journey was weighing on, and Boromir heard Gandalf conversing with Elrond and Aragorn late one night about Eowyn and the problems her presence posed on the Company.

Boromir's wound was healing well and, from what his companions told him, it was fading out nicely, though he had no way of confirming this since his sword was not flawless enough to offer itself up as a mirror for him to look at. It pained him little physically, but the mere thought of it weighed on his heart at the memory of the terrifying scream of the Nazgul and their darker than death images standing out against the night. He recalled the clammy, cold feeling of the air around him and the Ring tugging at his neck to free itself and join its master's disciples. With each passing day he felt the smallest amount of weight add to it and felt its power grow marginally. He did not mention these concerns aloud, especially to Faramir who grew quieter as the days waned on. There was little laughter to be heard in the Company at all, nor any smiles to be seen, but the lack of communication with his brother worried Boromir, though perhaps not as much as Grima did.

The man of Rohan (or so he claimed) said nothing unless directly spoken to by Gandalf, Boromir, or Haldir, and even then he sometimes did not respond promptly. He kept to himself at night, sleeping a little ways out of the protective circle they formed and he was always the first to rise of the men, though the dark and bruised-looking circles under his eyes suggested that he was not sleeping at all. More than once Boromir had caught him staring adamantly at the spot on Boromir's chest where they both knew the Ring to be. Boromir could not tell if these looks were intentional or if Grima was being possessed by Saruman in some way. He feared that at times Saruman was using Grima to check on the Ring's progress, but Gandalf informed him that they all would know if Saruman was coming for the Ring. The White Wizard did not yet know that they were on a quest to destroy the Ring, nor did he know who now bore it, for when last he had heard word, the Ring had been in the hands of a Halfling.

For now, the Ring was safe as the Fellowship was, though this was not very comforting to any of them.

Winter came in swiftly once the first snow began and its cruel kiss set the travelers back several days as they battled through snow banks, brutal winds, and harsh conditions. The road to Moria was not a welcome one, by any means, and Boromir cursed Saruman, the positioning of Isengard, and Sauron constantly under his breath for creating such a difficult path for them. There was little joy to be had for him these days so much that when he attempted to break a small smile, he found that the muscles required for the action in the corner of his mouth would not work at first. This pit of depression the Company remained in weighed on all of them to the point where speaking was a very difficult thing to do and something they engaged in less and less as the days wore on. Gandalf led them along the base of the Misty Mountains where the wind slammed them mercilessly against the mountainside. Not a night went by where Boromir did not attempt to wrap both of his hands around the Ring, not because he felt the need to hold it and sense its power, but because it radiated heat on the frigid nights as if it were encouraging him to rely on it for survival.

Sleep came less and less easier to him as they neared their checkpoint and though he tried to ignore the conversations between the Fellowship's two leaders, he could not help but listen to them as they spoke late into the night when they assumed he was sleeping. One such night, he had actually managed to drift off for perhaps half an hour when he heard a lone wolf cry out in the far distance and he opened his eyes ever so slightly, watching the small fire cast Gandalf and Elrond's shadows onto the wall of rock in front of him as he lay facing away from them.

"You would not have allowed him to bear the Ring if you did not foresee his strength and courage against its evil. If you do not trust him to do what is best, why, then, did you give your consent for him to begin this perilous journey?" asked Gandalf in a harsh whisper.

"Have you not seen him as the days linger on? He is already becoming a prisoner within his own body. He devotes all of his strength to carrying the Ring, not to repel it. In a few short weeks his face has begun to sink in. He looks as frail as Grima Wormtongue at times, as sleep deprived and solemn."

"The Ring's effect on him is not by his choice; the very same thing happened to Frodo before he willingly gave it up. But I trust that Boromir will succeed, if only he is given the proper guidance, for he is headstrong like his father, which is not beneficial to our Fellowship. It is not by our will that he must learn to follow, but by his own. He seeks to lead at times, to lead his brother, but it is Faramir's direction that he must eventually turn to. There may come a time when I am no longer in a position to help either of them, and if such a time comes, I ask that you would aid Faramir in gaining his brother's respect, but you must first put aside all doubts you hold over their heads first."

Boromir turned his head ever so slightly and saw that Haldir was rising to take over for his watch, staring at him in a manner that suggested that he knew Boromir had heard every word that passed between the two. There was no challenge in the look the Elf gave him, but Boromir read something unusual in it that he could not quite place.

Morning was a grim affair, for it had begun to snow once again halfway through the night so that they were all blanketed in white upon wakening. Now thoroughly soaked through, they started out the day's march quickly to bring warmth back into their bodies. It was not Eowyn, however, who began to lag behind, but Faramir. Grima was the first to take notice on how Faramir's posture began to stoop in his saddle and his breathing became pained. Boromir suspected that the weather was hurting him far more than anyone could have anticipated, for winter had never been this harsh in any realm of Gondor. He knew that his brother's pride would not allow them to slow their already dropping pace since the horses were having quite a time trying to navigate the snow burrows. Gandalf brought them to a halt in a small valley that was somewhat sheltered from the wind, if not the snow. He informed them cheerlessly that by noon the next day they would be upon the Walls of Moria. As they began to unsaddle the horses and build up another small fire, Faramir let out a terrible hacking cough and clapped his glove over his mouth to muffle the sound in the echoing valley. When he pulled his hand away Boromir spotted flecks of blood on his glove.

"Faramir, what is it?" he asked concernedly.

"I'll be alright," said Faramir a bit coldly, shrugging Boromir's hand off of his shoulder, but his brother was not to be put out. Boromir turned Faramir to face him and examined him closely for the first time in days. He was incredibly pale, though when Boromir put his hand against his brother's cheek the temperature was nearly scalding. Calling Gandalf and Elrond to his side, Boromir helped Faramir to sit down on the cleared ground so that they could examine him. Gandalf shooed Boromir away and so to occupy himself Boromir pulled his cloak tighter around him and set off to scout the surrounding area.

There was not much to see or not see, for the world stretching out in all directions was covered in nothing but white which made it nearly impossible to discern figures from mounds of snow. He worried that a foe could appear on the horizon as nothing but a disfigured shape and then suddenly be close enough to him that he would have no time to react. He had no desire of a repeat experience with the Nazgul and so he cautiously drew his sword, listening for the sound he did not want to hear, but the one that he knew would precede the enemy, should they come. He had a very strong feeling that something was drawing near to him in the dying light, though what he could not say. Almost as if it too sensed a presence, the Ring tightened against his skin, a most uncomfortable sensation. He wondered how the Halfling could have dealt with such unpleasantness as this when he thought that at any given moment he might go mad from having such a cursed thing dangling around his neck.

He sheathed his sword and dug at his leather armor and tunic until he pulled the chain free and the Ring appeared at the end. It was the same color as when Boromir had last seen it, but somehow its color had become more brilliant, stronger and more terrible than before. Placing it in his palm, he ran the tip of his finger around its circumference. What would it be like, he wondered to slip it on just once? What would he see? Would it help him find the strengths he needed? Gandalf had warned him of the dangers of wearing it, but what did the wizard know, really, about what the Ring yielded when worn? Had Gandalf ever put it on? Boromir centered his middle finger above the opening when…

"Boromir!"

He spun quickly to face Haldir who had crept up on him without any sound to betray his approach while he stood with his guard lowered to fanaticize about wearing a piece of jewelry. He felt absolutely ashamed.

"The temptation is strong, is it not?" questioned Haldir knowledgeably. "I know you long to see the world through the eyes of the Ring, but do not forget that you would also be seeing the world through Sauron who, in turn, would see you and know who now carries his weapon. It would be foolish to think about wearing that trinket, my friend."

"It is easy for you to say when you do not feel its tug on your very heart," said Boromir heatedly. "In my every waking moment I feel its power growing and my dreams have now turned to nightmares as it haunts me there as well. Do not presume to know how strong this enticement is."

"I can see its power through the look in your eyes. Do not give in when we have only just begun our journey, Boromir."

"If you believe that you would be better suited to hold off the urge to wear it, you may have it." Boromir unstrung the chain from around his neck and held it out to Haldir who took a wary step back.

"You should not so readily be willing to part with your burden. I will not take it. I chose to accompany you, not bear what is not mine. If you were to fall in battle, even then I would hope that a worthier candidate than me should choose to reclaim it before I offered myself. Let us not stand here challenging each other about who has a stronger will. Would I have given my service if I believe you incapable? No, I believe that you will succeed, but you cannot hope to if you part with the Ring so easily."

Boromir slipped the chain back around his neck and tucked the Ring away. "Forgive me; my mind is otherwise occupied at the moment."

"Indeed, you worry about your brother. I was sent to tell you that his fever has broken and that if we manage to keep him warm into the next morning, he will survive. Lord Elrond has identified and tended to his sickness."

"Then let us go back and build up as big of a fire as we dare in these barren winter wastelands." Boromir glanced over his shoulder, narrowing his eyes as he believed that he saw something move, but a moment later joined Haldir and the two of them worked their way back down into the valley.


	6. Chapter 6: Into Overwhelming Darkness

The Walls of Moria rose up before them with impressive height and grandeur, but the awe stopped there, for there was nothing unique about them. Boromir concluded that he could have passed this spot on his own and not given it a second thought for its plainness. The Walls were a dull, uninteresting gray ingrown with dead foliage sticking out from its many cracks and crevices. The air was warmer here by a margin, but at least it had stopped snowing, though the water was not frozen over, which Boromir found quite abnormal. The lake was a dark, murky black color, unfit for drinking, but it still drew Boromir's eye as he walked alongside it.

Gandalf led them to a stretch of bare wall which was only unique in the sense that no dead plants were hanging out of it. He smoothed dirt of the ages away from a small section and suddenly a silver-white light appeared at his fingertips, twisting and crisscrossing until a door had formed in the shape of an archway. Elvish runes were etched onto the surface, though from the puzzled looks on Elrond and Haldir's faces, he guessed that even they did not know what was written here. Gandalf, however beamed at the door and began muttering to himself in ancient languages. Boromir figured that they would be stuck here for quite some time as the sun disappeared and night drifted in. Settling himself down against one of the giant dead Maplewood trees beside the door, he rested his head on his hand, watching Haldir and Grima speaking in an undertone by the water's edge.

In what seemed like mere moments later Faramir was shaking his shoulder with the hushed words of, "Gandalf has opened the door." Faramir helped him to his feet with surprising strength for one who had been hacking up blood the day before. Here Gandalf gave them the news that they would have to turn the horses free, for they would not be able to navigate the narrow path of the Mines. With a somewhat heavy heart Boromir began to remove the saddle from Mollen's back, but Gandalf stopped him, resting a hand on the horse's muzzle, murmuring foreign words once again before moving on to Faramir's horse. When he had finished he announced, "I have blessed these beasts so that they may safely return to Rivendell. Fear not for them and do not let your mind be distracted as we venture deep into the world under the mountains."

Boromir noticed the wide and foreboding doorway which spewed out darkness in the most unwelcoming nature. Faramir took a shaky breath at his side and he could see it cling to the still night air, freezing in place.

"Father often told stories of forbidden places when we were children," said Faramir, "but never did I imagine that I would be one to venture into them. This path bodes ill for us, brother, and I can see nothing but darkness ahead."

"I see Gandalf's light, the only light in the darkness, and that is the one we must follow," said Boromir as he took the first step under the archway. On his right Haldir fastened his quiver to his back and tucked his longbow into a harness alongside it. Grima came behind them, though he seemed completely at ease with the nothingness that they were walking into. His clothing allowed him to be swallowed in darkness and as he wove around Haldir to wander around inside the entryway, he disappeared from sight.

"Do not go far, Worm," called Eomer. "If you wish to escape us in the Mines, you are in for a bitter disappointment."

Grima's pale profile appeared, eerie and shallow as Gandalf's staff shed light on him. "I do not have to go far to know that we are not in for a welcome journey, lord. Can you not smell the foul scent of decayed flesh, the dust of years left untended? Come forth and you shall see what I speak of."

Boromir and Faramir exchanged hesitant glances before they closed in tighter to Gandalf's staff and took the necessary steps to see what Grima had discovered. There were corpses and skeletons littering the carved stone floor, piled up in some places and strewn needlessly in others. They marked the way to the stairs, through a second doorway that led into the greater caverns, halls, and unknown.

"What happened here?" asked Eowyn, covering her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Orcs and goblins attacked, my lady," Grima answered, pointing out the jagged teeth and strangely shaped skulls on some of the skeletons. "The Dwarves who stood guard here were felled by an unlikely and unseen attack. They closed off the door to keep out any more intruders, but they could not hold their positions."

"Now the reason for Moria's lack of response to our summons is clear," said Elrond. "I fear what we will find beyond this room."

"Might we go back, then?" asked Eomer with a trace of hope in his voice.

"No," said Gandalf mildly. "I fear Saruman discovering us close to Isengard more than I fear passing through the Mines with no Dwarves to guide us. I would have us go onward, but I ask you, Boromir, what do you think now?"

"I have seen the threat growing in Isengard on your face and I see the threat that lies here at my feet, but I know the danger of passing close to Saruman's realm whereas I cannot see any immediate danger here. If you are confident that you can lead us through to the other side, I say we should press on through the Mines."

"It has been many years since I last walked these halls, but I take heart in your faith in me, Ring-bearer. Inward it is, then."

As expected, there was nothing to welcome them and absolutely nothing inviting about the entire place. The cold, dark walls had many crevices which Boromir expected to spew out Orcs at any moment, but their passage remained jarringly silent. Gandalf's light bobbed four heads in front of Boromir and two behind him Eomer carried a torch. The lights cast flickering shadows every which way and more than once Boromir could have sworn that they revealed something moving just beyond his line of vision. The footing was an absolute nightmare to weave over, for one moment there was enough room for five of them to walk abreast and the next they would have to sidle along one at a time while hugging the wall to keep from falling into the abyss. They made as little noise as possible; none of them spoke and the only sounds apart from themselves that they heard was an occasional pebble clink against an object or the faint drip of water as the snow melted through the roof of the mountain.

Gandalf found a defendable spot to camp for the night and Eomer put out the torch to be used the next day. They dined on what remained of their provisions by staff light and then Grima took the first watch. Gandalf kept his staff lit in his hand as he slept. It was rather disconcerting for Boromir to roll over onto his side and see the wizard staring at him five feet away. He knew that like the Elves, Gandalf slept with his eyes wide open, but this did not make it any easier to sleep. Faramir still had traces of his cough which sounded like thunder in the echoing Mines and it made Boromir tense up every time his brother made the sound. He did not sleep well in the least and was drained the next morning to the point where he nearly dropped the torch as Aragorn lit it due to his disorientation.

"Let me," offered Théoden, holding out his hand for the torch. "I doubt you can hold yourself up along with this stick. If you feel faint, alert me and I'll pull us to a halt."

"Thank you, but I am simply tired. I'll be fine."

They came to the narrowest ledge yet that did not yield an alternative route. The only way to cross was to place their fingers deep in the spider-infested fractures along the wall and cling desperately to the wall with every ounce of strength they possessed. Elrond went first, but of course his graceful crossing made the whole thing look easy. Faramir volunteered to go next. He did not meet any difficulty until he landed himself halfway between both ledges with no place to put his hand. Boromir saw the strain on his face and knew what his little brother was thinking.

"Do not look down, Faramir. Reach your arm out as far as it will go and find another handhold."

Faramir pressed his forehead into the rock wall and scrabbled around for somewhere else to put his hand. He promptly found a place to grab on to and continued on, but only when he had reached safety did Boromir breathe easily again. Aragorn went next at the same time as Gandalf who showed surprising strength and coordination. When they had crossed Eomer started out, instructing Eowyn to follow him closely. He had only gone five paces when Haldir turned quickly to face the direction they had come from, drawing his sword which rang out with a clear tone.

"There's something coming our way. We had best cross quickly. Grima, follow the lady."

Eomer beckoned Eowyn to him who went out just enough for Grima to accompany her.

"Boromir, be ready, I sense that there will be more than one of whatever is approaching," Haldir warned. Without removing his shield from his back, Boromir unsheathed his sword as did Théoden. It was nerve-wracking standing and waiting for something unknown to jump out at them and Boromir glanced over his shoulder to where Eomer had dismounted the wall when he felt Haldir tense beside him at the same moment that they heard the unmistakable sound of a goblin screeching. The torch showered the deformed faces of four goblins and as two of them lunged to attack, Boromir raised his sword to parry. He blocked the blow and kicked out hard so that his opponent lost its balance and teetered on the edge of the landing. He stabbed out with his sword, catching a weak spot in the armor and the goblin fell. Haldir had dispatched his own opponent and was dueling with another when the fourth drew a bow. Before it could notch an arrow for itself Boromir felt the hair on the back of his head fly upward, caught in the sudden draft of an arrow's path as it was fired from behind. The goblin tumbled away from the platform, lost from sight and Boromir turned to see Faramir prepare another arrow in case more goblins appeared.

"To the ledge, Boromir, quickly!" said Théoden, sheathing his sword.

Boromir saw Grima assist Eowyn onto the far landing and pressed himself against the wall, searching for places to put his fingers while attempting to find a secure footing. He kept his eyes on his greave, looking without seeing. He let his hands see for him and this was the reason why Faramir had to shake him moments later and inform him that he had made it across, for Boromir was now navigating his way through thin air without realizing that he had been standing on solid ground for a while. Théoden had made it across even with the torch in his hand and Haldir made swift work of the last journey.

"Your battle will have alerted others to our presence; we must hide," said Gandalf. He pushed them all forward into a room with a low ceiling that slanted downward. On either side his light revealed hollowed out sections big enough for three or four people to wedge in. They split up and crammed into the sections, muffling anything on their person that might betray the tiniest noise. Théoden put out the torch so that only the staff light let them see each other. Gandalf was in a section diagonally left from where Boromir, Haldir, Grima, and Eowyn hid and the wizard muttered some sort of spell before he touched a hand to the crystal atop his staff and it went out, plunging them all into complete darkness.

Boromir closed his eyes and concentrated on evening out his breathing until all he could hear was Eowyn's own since she was squeezed in so tightly beside him. On Boromir's left Haldir had a hand on his sword hilt, though Boromir sensed it rather than saw it. They heard the sound of heavy footsteps falling from behind them and a sudden thought occurred to him; goblins and Orcs could see in the dark. What had Gandalf been thinking when he instructed them to hide? Was he playing on false hope that by jamming themselves into inescapable corners that they were eliminating the chance of goblins seeing them? Even if the goblins rushed past with great speed, there was still a likely possibility that they would see humans and Elves attempting to hide with their backs to the wall.

What then, had Gandalf been muttering about?

Boromir felt goblins hurrying along in the darkness, feeling the vibration and praying that none would turn to the left or right. He knew that directly across from him Faramir, Théoden, and Eomer were waiting just as anxiously for the evil to pass. As Boromir sensed the numbers dwindling, he heard the footsteps slow down until he could very clearly see a goblin's outline standing before them. He heard it sniffing about for its quarry and almost as if it knew there was something to be found, it moved closer to the three men's hiding place. From what Boromir remembered before Gandalf put out the light, Théoden was on the far right and Faramir the left with Eomer between them. The goblin closed in on the right, sword in hand.

He could feel Eowyn's breath as she opened her mouth to gasp in fear, but he felt Grima move his arm and place his hand over her lips with an almost inaudible command of, "_Shh_."

The goblin stepped to the left and extended its scimitar and as Boromir made to draw his sword, Haldir laid a warning hand over his shoulder. Seconds later the goblin snorted in disappointment and moved on. They waited once again in darkness and silence for what Boromir concluded to be half an hour before Gandalf's staff slowly lit up the room. Boromir squeezed out first, followed closely by Eowyn who rushed to her uncle and brother. Grima confronted Gandalf.

"What is it that you said to shield us from goblin eyes? They should have seen us as the passed, but they did not, and it was not from luck."

"I know many spells, Master Wormtongue, and the one I used allowed me to cast a temporary shield around us that interfered with the goblins' sight and sense of smell. They would not know we were there unless they ventured forward and breached our hiding place."

Boromir allowed himself a small smile. Perhaps the wizard really did know the best course of action in every situation and the thought comforted him to know that Gandalf had come along with them.


	7. Chapter 7: A Light to Guide the Way

Night and day were the same under the mountain and the only bit of light they saw came from the crystal in the twisted bit of wood Gandalf carried. They saw no trace of the goblins and heard nothing but the own rustling of their cloaks as the trekked on. It did not do them any good to gaze around, for nearly everywhere their eyes strayed they saw what once was a body of a Dwarf or a beast. The air was thick and musty so that Boromir forgot what it felt like to inhale the freshness of trees. He even thought longingly of the polluted waters that flowed through Osgiliath—anything to escape this bitter darkness.

They traveled tightly packed in to each other so that more often than not they brushed shoulders with someone else and no one but Eomer appeared to have a problem with this since somehow Grima and Eowyn seemed to always end up beside each other no matter how many times he intervened. They did not travel fast, though they did cover many miles in just a few short days until on the morning of their third day Gandalf announced that they were nearing the exit.

"Where will we go from there?" asked Aragorn as they passed their last water pouch to be shared.

"Will we go on to Lothlorien?" Eowyn inquired, watching the pouch pass from Faramir to Grima who handed it off to her without taking a sip so that she received the last few droplets.

"No," said Haldir abruptly. "Lorien does not welcome travelers anymore. We would be in great danger if we chose to pass through the golden woods."

"We would be turned away even though you accompany us?" said Eomer in surprise.

"It is _because_ I am with you that you would be in great danger," Haldir corrected, though he did not elaborate which led them to believe that this was a very touchy subject indeed. "We should travel north around Lorien and follow Anduin from there."

"For how long?" Faramir wondered aloud. "The Great River runs long and far."

"We could enter Rohan at the Wold," Théoden proposed. "From there we could head west, around Emyn Muil and make our way to Cair Andros, passing over Northern Ithilien."

"Indeed, this is what I thought," Gandalf agreed. "I only wonder if this passage will be open to us as we travel it by and by."

"It is best to worry about these things as they come and not before," said Boromir. "We do not know how the road will fare for us until we are there and I would say that for now we should concentrate on first leaving these cursed Mines. We are almost out now and I cannot sit here a moment longer in knowledge that we are so close to seeing sunlight."

"Are you certain that we _are_ that close?" Eomer asked Gandalf as they shouldered their packs once again.

"Your proof is there," said Gandalf, pointing with his staff to a bridge a few leagues ahead of them, though not in their immediate direction. "We will descend these staircases and then climb up another that led to the last hall. Let us go quietly, for it would be a pity to come this far and find our way barred by foes who heard us trampling along like fools."

The staircase was wide enough for two of them to go down at once, though they were steep and as Boromir kept pace with Faramir, he feared that at any moment he would lose his footing and tumble off into the never-ending darkness. His pack had never weighed so much, and yet he was grateful for it because it helped to balance him. He felt his heart quicken in anticipation at the thought of seeing greenery. The Dwarves had enjoyed the absence of the sun and the goblins and Orcs could continue to fester in the gloom of the Mines, but he sought freedom. It was difficult enough to bear the Ring in daylight, but the very thought of having to bear it forever hidden from day was enough to make Boromir quicken his pace ever so slightly so that in moments he was far in front of the others. Waiting for them to catch up, he gazed around in the darkness. Perhaps his eyes were too accustomed to the darkness, but it looked as if there were shapes darting around behind him, unseen, unwanted. When he heard the rustle of chainmail he knew that there was absolutely nothing wrong with his eyes and drew his sword.

Aragorn appeared beside him wielding the torch and his own sword so that Boromir could see faces begin to leer at him, eyes staring, teeth bearing. They had walked straight into an ambush.

"Push through them!" yelled Gandalf. "Fight your way on!"

Boromir ripped his shield from his back and tucked it in tightly to his chest, preparing to burrow into the enemy that now blocked him for the bridge that would lead him out of this endless nightmare of shadow. Faramir joined ranks alongside him and the three of them plunged forward, smashing into Orcs and goblins of every nature. Boromir put his full body weight behind the force of his shield as he rammed into an Orc that was lunging to stab at Faramir's exposed back. His little brother's sword was longer and reached farther than his own, but Boromir had strong wrists and was able to stab his sword one-handed into the neck of a goblin with equal speed so that the two of them began to clear the path ahead as the others kept close behind them. When the enemy was no longer in front of them but on the sides Boromir whirled around to see Grima, Eomer, and Eowyn still caught in the middle of the swarm. Haldir, Faramir, and Aragorn readied their bows and took aim, but there was only enough light for them to see flickers of their companions' faces so that there was a great danger of hitting them. Faramir pulled back on his bowstring, licking his lips in trepidation.

"_Dartho_!" Elrond commanded with a raise of his arm, holding it in a ready position. Boromir watched his eyes narrow and then as Gandalf spoke an incantation, the light grew at the tip of his staff, revealing what moments ago had been nameless shapes in the dark. Elrond apparently saw an opening in the enemy ranks and ordered the fire.

Three arrows cut through the Orcs in front of the three stragglers and felled them. Eowyn bounded over the bodies with Eomer straight behind her. Grima brought up the rear and twisted his arm behind him as he ran to stab at the goblins trying to cut his legs out from under him.. Eomer ordered Eowyn to continue onward and then swung his sword wide. Grima dropped to his knees in the last spare moment and Eomer's sword aptly named Guthwine cleaved a goblin's head from its body as it soared over the top of Grima's head. However, he did not see the Orc take a stab at him from the side and cried out as a rusted dagger pierced him in the right shoulder. Grima stabbed his short sword and knife repeatedly into Eomer's attacker, but was thrown back as an Orc pummeled its fist at his face.

Boromir made to run to their rescue, but somehow Haldir had gotten there first, dispatching enemies with the fluidity that only Elves could accomplish. He hollered for Grima to regain his feet and for Eomer to retreat. As he checked over his shoulder to ensure that they had followed his orders, a goblin stabbed out with its scimitar and when he moved to block the blow, the blades rebounded off of each other, causing the scimitar to miss its initial target and slice through Haldir's forearm. He gave a sharp exhale of pain, turned, and fled.

"Hasten to the bridge!" commanded Gandalf. "I will hold them off as you make your escape!" Boromir let the others cross the bridge first before he reached out and grabbed Gandalf's arm.

"They are all across, now you must follow!"

"They will not allow us to escape if their way is left unblocked. I will ward them off with the light the likes of which they have never seen and then destroy the bridge. Wait for me in the hills just beyond the gate! Go now, Boromir!"

Against his better judgment Boromir obeyed, sprinting the length of the bridge where he joined Faramir who was firing arrows still to aid Gandalf. Elrond beckoned them to follow him up the steps where a faint light was breaking through the darkness to guide their way.

"Go on, I will follow," Boromir told his brother. He lingered, watching the wizard lift his staff above his head at the oncoming enemy. Gandalf must have sensed that Boromir had not gone on as instructed and therefore he raised his grand voice so that it no longer sounded like that of an old man's, but a much powerful and stronger being's.

"Shield your eyes, Boromir!"

Casting his arm up in front of his face, Boromir snapped his eyes shut and not one moment later felt the heat of a dazzling, prevailing light hit his face. He could almost see the light through his eyelids, but dared not open them for fear of going blind. The sounds of goblins and Orcs retreating into their realm of darkness reached his ears and over their wails he heard Gandalf command once more, "Run, Boromir!" This time he did obey, opening his eyes just enough to allow him to see the ground as he limbered up the steps and ran after Faramir. After several steps he could no longer see Gandalf's magical light, but it was replaced by that of the sun breaking through the last of the Mines to lead him out into the open. He came to a panting halt where the others had gathered, tending to their wounds.

In the sunlight Boromir could see the paleness in their faces, an effect of living underground for nearly four days. They all were coated in dirt, grime, and black blood as were their weapons. Théoden was aiding Eomer in wrapping his shoulder in a torn bit of cloth while Eowyn handed Grima a handkerchief to dab at his bleeding nose. Haldir's wound was steadily dripping blood, but he did not seem to care in the least as he regarded Boromir inquisitively.

"Where is Gandalf?" he asked.

"He will meet us further on," said Boromir. "He gave instructions for us to continue on and wait in the hills. Come, we cannot linger here." He saw Eowyn touch a finger to her parched lips and added encouragingly, "There are many fresh streams ahead, are there not?" He appealed to Haldir and Elrond for reassurance.

"There are," said Haldir with a nod. "We should do as Gandalf requested and press on so that we may gather new supplies. He will join us soon."

Boromir's lungs rejoiced as they drank in the cool, fresh air. His face relished the warmth of the sun. As they walked, they found new strength at the promise of water, shelter, and safety. When they came upon the lavish hills Gandalf had spoke of they set their packs down and quickly began to scout about for the means to build a fire. Once Eomer and Aragorn had gotten one started Boromir turned to the north where he could just make out the gate of Moria where Gandalf would soon emerge. Upon seeing Haldir properly dress Eomer's wound while his own still bled, Boromir spoke up.

"You cannot carry on like this. You must bind your wound, Haldir, for it will do you little good to let it continue to bleed."

"It will stop bleeding when it has run its course," said Haldir and Boromir caught a trace of defiance in his words.

"If you will not listen to the Ring-bearer, you will listen to me, young one," said Elrond in a tone that explained that he would take no argument. "I shall bind it myself if you are so against the idea of admitting to such mortality. It is just a wound and nothing to be ashamed of."

Of all the things Boromir could have mistaken Haldir's anger to be, shame would not have been one of them. Elves were a very proud folk and a wound must have been quite a disgraceful thing. Haldir allowed Elrond to wrap the wound, albeit begrudgingly and then crossed his arms to wait for Gandalf.

Night came swiftly, but it did not bother Boromir in the least, for the stars and moon shone down on them, bathing them in reassurance. However, as the hours wore on and Gandalf still had not put in an appearance, Boromir began to grow uneasy. The wizard had been full of confidence that he would meet them, but where was he? Surely, _surely_ he could not have fallen? Boromir had heard the enemy retreating, so what was there to stop Gandalf? Had he lied? Had he known that one of them would have to stay behind to ensure the others' survival?

"I'm going back to search for him," said Boromir presently, hefting his shield onto his shoulder and picking up a long stick from the fire.

"That is unwise," said Elrond. "We will wait here until morning and if Gandalf has not come by then, we will continue down the road he selected for us. I know the way; I will guide you."

"If he has not come already, something has happened to him," said Boromir. "What if he is trapped and in need of help? I cannot bear knowing that something may have befallen him and we left without giving a second thought as to his trouble. He did not have to remain behind, yet for our sakes, he did, and we owe him nothing less than our lives. I am going to find him."

"You will remain here," said Elrond, coming to his feet. "If Gandalf has indeed fallen, there is nothing you can do that would help him and he will have died in vain if you return to find him and are struck down. Do you forget that you bear the Ring? It is you who must continue on without him, Boromir, not go searching for him when you know as well as I that he is not there. Gandalf has never been one to lie and if you instructed you to run, I can deduce that he knew what the outcome of the battle would be. Now set your shield down, return the stick to the fire, and sit."

Faramir, sensing his brother's distress, reached out a hand and placed it on Boromir's arm. "I am sorry, brother."

The sight of his brother stirred a memory in Boromir. He recollected Gandalf's words to Elrond the night when they both thought him to be sleeping. _"There may come a time when I am no longer in a position to help either of them, and if such a time comes, I ask that you would aid Faramir in gaining his brother's respect."_

Gandalf had foreseen what Elrond could not: his own death. He knew that he would not survive the journey into Moria and he had foreseen Faramir's guidance to calm Boromir when the urge to return to the mines was overwhelming. Gandalf knew what Faramir's uses were, unlike their father. Gandalf knew far more about Boromir and Faramir than Denethor ever could hope to and what's more, he loved Faramir more than Denethor ever had or would. But now this surrogate father was gone along with so much of their hope.

A solitary tear fell from Boromir's eye, settling in the fire that now seemed so cold.


	8. Chapter 8: The Road Onward

Boromir did not sleep that night and he was the last one on watch as morning dawned cold and foggy. He had no motivation to go on after what had happened. He should have grabbed onto Gandalf's arm and insisted that the wizard follow him, but he hadn't; he had fled, just as Gandalf told him to. Why, then, did he feel guilt? Had it been his fault, or was he just grieving in a way that allowed him to blame Gandalf's death on someone?

The Ring was heavy on his breast and he scratched at it irritably. Gandalf had been the one to motivate Boromir to take up the burden, the one who believed him to be truly capable, but now that the wizard was no longer with them, would anyone believe that Boromir could manage the task of bearing the Ring? Gandalf held them together, cast out all of their doubts, and kept them on the correct path. Now they had none of this reassurance.

"Have you been awake all night?" asked Haldir, standing up beside him.

"Sleep does not come easily to me these days, and I doubt very much whether it ever will again," said Boromir dismally. "I chose to journey through the Mines instead of risk the road past Isengard. Gandalf might have lived, had I accepted my fears, but I gave in to them instead and his death now weighs on my shoulders. He fell because of me and in addition to the burden I already carry, this is one that I will bear the rest of my life, knowing that my fear cost Gandalf the Grey his life."

Haldir thrust his forearm at Boromir so that his blood-stained bandage was clearly visible. "Do you believe that I bled _for you_? Do you think that Gandalf died _because of you_? No, Boromir, the wounds we take are the fault of no one except the fool who believes that he is the cause of all the problems he faces. If you wish to blame yourself, consider the terms upon which you accepted the road through the Mines over the one that led past Isengard. You did not fear for yourself in choosing to go into Moria; you feared for us, your companions. It was not by some selfish need that you decided to risk the Mines, for you had our best interest at heart. Was this not also the reason for you accepting the Ring to begin with?"

"I accepted the Ring for my people," said Boromir, avoiding Haldir's eye. It was not a lie; he wanted to protect the people of Gondor and the people of Middle-earth, but Faramir's acceptance from their father was far more important and a much stronger reason for going on this quest.

"You lie as convincingly as Eomer hides his anger towards Grima, my friend. I am not saying that your intentions are wrong, but I am advising you to be forward with me if you wish to keep my trust. I cannot help you if all you deal in is lies."

"The only lie I have dealt in is the one which you have just penetrated and even that one is not one meant to harm you," said Boromir wearily. "I do not wish to sit here and continue arguing. If we do not have Gandalf to lead us now, we must start out earlier and bed down later to cover the ground we will most likely lose without him."

"Lord Elrond will not lead us astray; he knows this land well, having traveled many times in his years," Haldir assured. "Do not be hasty unless you wish to confirm his suspicion that you may not be the best choice for Ring-bearer."

"Gandalf spoke out on my behalf; that should be good enough for anyone," Boromir snapped.

"Indeed it should, but the Fellowship treats with you a certain amount of respect because you are an honorable man known well in your triumphs and should anyone doubt that, you have others to vouch for you. What do you imagine Grima is feeling at this moment? Gandalf was the only one to vouch for him, but with the wizard gone, who now will defend him? Grima had no companions or acquaintances before this and the one person he put his trust in is now dead. We must establish a friendship with him if we wish to keep him safe from Saruman and keep us safe from Isengard. I would ask that you do not let Eomer's prejudice against him wear down his spirit. We will need Grima."

"I don't doubt it, but I cannot extend my kindness towards him if he acts like a stranger among us. He does not trust us and I do not know how to gain it."

"He does not trust some of us, but you are not on that list. Consider the way he speaks to you and compare that to how he speaks, if he does, to Aragorn. You give him hope."

"We should be moving on," said Boromir abruptly, reaching over to shake Eowyn's shoulder. He and Haldir moved among the Fellowship to wake them and with a heavy heart they rose, packing their belongings in silence and remembering that they would be following the Great River on foot, for their horses were well on their way back to Rivendell by now. If it could be said that one person grieved more than Boromir for Gandalf, it was his little brother who Boromir knew was mourning the loss of his surrogate father. Their depression reflected on the others who, despite their best efforts, began to suffer from the effects.

They could see the outskirts of Lothlorien as they took to the eastern road through bare yellow hills reminiscent of the plains of Rohan. Haldir did not so much as cast the briefest of glances at his home, watching the distant river with determination. No one dared to ask why it was that he held such anger for the woods in which he was born, or why it would be dangerous to venture into them.

The days seemed to grow shorter, colder, and more dangerous as they amounted up to weeks until Aragorn returned from scouting ahead to inform them that the Great River lie just over the last stretch of hills. Though this did little to raise their spirits, it did give them cause to converse amongst themselves about how they would need to post two guards at night instead of one. They were about to enter territory often patrolled by Orcs which were trained in the art of stealth and deception and would need their wits about them.

Boromir pretended not to, but he often heard Eomer pleading with his sister to return to Edoras once they neared the realm of the Horse-lords. Théoden did not match Eomer's insistence with as much enthusiasm, though he certainly cautioned his niece to no end. All who had seen uncle and niece together agreed that their bond was stronger than those titles allowed them to be. Théoden truly did care for Eowyn, which was why Boromir suspected he did not wish to send her away, for if he perished on the journey, he would want her by his side in his last moments. Eomer was alone in his fight to make his sister see reason, for even Elrond agreed with the others when the Lord of the Mark was not present that Eowyn had shown courage and strength beyond all expectations. Eowyn blushed at the praise. Women were not complimented in such a manner in any part of Middle-earth.

A change had come over Grima and Boromir feared for the worse when he one day spotted him lingering behind the group, scrabbling to tuck his necklace away beneath his tunic. Since Gandalf's passing, he had been completely shunned by Eomer and Elrond, Aragorn, and sometimes even Faramir turned a cold shoulder in his direction. It seemed that Boromir and Haldir were the only ones who attempted to show kindness towards him, though they suspected that Eowyn might be one to sympathize with him. However, she rarely had an opportunity to speak with him since her brother purposefully separated her from Grima by keeping her near the front of the traveling party. After several continuous days of this, Boromir remembered Haldir's advice to put a stop to such inequity and he brought the Fellowship to a halt. Discreetness was not one of his strengths and so he was very forward with accusations.

"Was it not Grima who protected you and your sister and allowed you to escape the ambush in the Mines, Lord Eomer?" he asked boldly, surprised at the loudness of his voice after an extended period of under-use. "Children cannot be blamed for the teachings of their parents and neither can Grima be cast out for the wickedness he had to endure under Saruman's hand. He has proved himself to be worthy to this Fellowship and you would do well to accept him as your equal, lest he not be there in battle the next time you are in need of assistance."

"The fact that he serves Saruman is enough to make me cautious, but if he were to act on such an evil impulse, I would strike him down before he raised his knife to slit our throats," said Eomer forebodingly.

"I serve no one," said Grima, coming nearer. "I have no master. The day Gandalf liberated me from Isengard was the day I washed my hands of the life I led. My only duty is to escort the Ring and its bearer now. If Saruman still had power over me, he would have commanded me to slip my dagger between your ribs and smother you in your sleep already, yet here you stand, doubtful and oblivious as ever. Your hasty actions will not shield your sister from pursuing what she wants in her heart, whatever that may be."

"You dare make advances on my sister? I'll have your head, Worm!"

Eomer drew Guthwine and Grima leapt back, reaching for his curved dagger. There was a sinful curve to his lip as he leered at Eomer.

"My specialty in combat has to do with close distance fighting, lord, where is yours?"

Eomer lunged, stabbing outward and Grima easily sidestepped. As Eomer swung his sword back around, Grima deflected it with his dagger, though Eomer's aim was much closer this time, for the blade nearly grazed his cheek.

"Stop!" cried Eowyn, rushing to intervene. Her sword was not drawn and she had no way to defend herself as the two men battled. Grima put out his arm to keep her back and Eomer seized his chance, stabbing Guthwine into Grima's upper shoulder, causing him to drop his dagger in pain. As Eomer made to attack again Grima unsheathed Eowyn's sword with his uninjured arm and raised it just in time to block the blow meant to hack off his arm.

"Eomer, stay this madness!" shouted Théoden, pulling on Eomer's arm.

"If you do not consider your sister's safety, I want no part of this," said Grima, still trying to keep Eowyn behind him.

"You take your hands from her so that I may properly slice them off!" Eomer seethed.

"_Enough!_" roared Elrond, setting his sword Hadhafang against the nape of Eomer's neck. "If you fight amongst yourselves now the Fellowship will fail before we enter the Wold. Sheath your sword, Eomer, and see the damage you have done as well as that which you almost did. Your sister entered the fray and yet you continued, disregarding her safety. Grima has again proven himself to care deeply about this Company, for he acted as her shield when his own life was in peril. You will apologize and make amends; I will not have you quarreling any further."

Boromir believed that Elrond was asking for a miracle in bidding Grima and Eomer to beg each other's forgiveness. Eomer put his sword away and Grima staked Eowyn's into the ground.

"I apologize if my appearance speaks for me, Lord Eomer," said Grima, his voice oily and challenging. It was not much of an apology, but it was better than Eomer's curt nod. Théoden beckoned Eomer away and Grima cleaned the muddy blade on his cloak before handing it back to Eowyn with the words, "Forgive me for disarming you, my lady. Your sword was more easily accessible than my own since your brother crippled my good arm and your blade was closer than my weapons."

Eowyn nodded, but unlike her brother, she looked genuinely sorry for what had happened. She extended her hand to touch the wound on Grima's shoulder. "Since my brother was the one to draw blood, allow me to clean the wound."

"It does not need tending to; it is a clean cut, a flesh wound."

"It still bleeds and needs to be bound. I will dress it for you, if you would be so kind as to take a seat."

Grima gave in and sat down. Boromir clapped his uninjured shoulder with the comment, "Well done, my friend."


	9. Chapter 9: Lidless and Wreathed in Flame

Grima must have kindled new hope after his fight with Eomer and it showed whenever he returned from his scouting excursions. There was something of a sneer on his less-than-pleasant features whenever he met Eomer's eye and Boromir felt certain that he would have to intervene to stop this fight likely to ensue, but to his relief the two never even exchanged words with each other. As they ventured further on down the side of the river, their spirits rose just enough out of the bottomless pit of despair to tolerate conversation, though the words spoken were not often cheerful or encouraging.

Elrond and Theoden performed most of the talking and the individual who spoke the least was Faramir, secluding himself similar to how Grima had been, but unlike Grima, Faramir chose to separate himself from the Fellowship. His demeanor was strange to Boromir who sensed that some unknown pain was brewing within his brother. If Gandalf's death still weighed heavily upon his shoulders it needed to be lifted so that Faramir could reclaim his old self, the young man who had been full of life and happiness defending the streets of Osgiliath despite an ever-disapproving father's eye. There was no smile to be seen on his features now, not the slightest trace of happiness. Boromir feared that if he did not solve the mystery of Faramir pain soon, he might never see the kind twinkle in his brother's eye again.

By Boromir's calculations, he had been carrying the Ring for a little less than Frodo had from the Shire to Rivendell and he often wondered how the Hobbit could have managed to hold on to his contentment and sanity. It was nothing short of torture feeling the gold against his skin, chafing its way through the first layer so that whenever he reached down to feel the irritated skin it was tender and raw to the touch. He dared not show the skin to anyone else and so he had to pretend that it did not bother him. Of course, there was no hiding anything from Haldir who would have noticed it if Boromir started walking with his left foot in the lead instead of his dominant right. Haldir noted how Boromir was tugging at his tunic to prevent it from rubbing against the cut skin, though he did not know this was the reason why.

Boromir suspected that Haldir would be asking him what ailed him at any moment and he was trying his best to prolong the time between then and now and he therefore encouraged Elrond to keep them walking as the sun went down in the West, casting their long shadows across the wild grass. It grew tall around them, shielding them from view of whatever might be prowling around, but hiding any approaching enemies from their view as well.

But they did not need to see to know what was coming at them as a piercing scream set them all into panic.

"Nazgul," warned Aragorn in a low voice.

"Lie flat and spread apart from each other," said Elrond, disappearing as he dropped down. "Cover yourselves as best you can."

Boromir came onto his knees, rolling onto his back so that his shield would not catch the last rays of light and betray his presence. He turned his head to the side and saw Eowyn covering her head in the forest of tall grass several feet away. She appeared as frightened as he felt. The temptation to grab onto the Ring was overwhelming and he dug frantically at the do-up of his tunic to plunge his hand into it and feel the simultaneous warmth and coldness of it. His fingers found it and he tugged hard to bring it out where he could see it.

"Boromir, put it away," hissed Faramir from nearby, though Boromir could not see where.

The Nazgul's screams grew louder, though Boromir couldn't tell from which direction they were closing in. His instincts told him to prepare for battle and yet the Ring was urging him to slip his finger through it and flee. It was only a few moments that he spent contemplating his situation when suddenly he heard Grima give a cry of alarm and then there came the sound of metal clashing. Boromir sat up and saw a black hooded figure bearing down on Grima who lay unseen by the Fellowship and in full view of the enemy. He wanted to react, but he knew that Elrond would see it as unwise to reveal their position and he closed his eyes in a futile attempt to block out the sounds of his friend who was so desperately in need. His hand was on his sword hilt when he saw Faramir scramble forward to avoid a Nazgul blade as another cursed Rider penetrated their hiding place. Faramir had just unsheathed his sword when a third Wraith appeared above him and stabbed downward. It was only by pure luck that the blade missed his heart and touched the flattened grass beside him.

His brother was trapped. Boromir did not hesitate. He yanked the chain off of his neck and held the Ring to his finger. Somewhere to his left Haldir hollered in warning, but Boromir ignored him and plunged his index finger through the golden circle.

A high wind blasted his hair about in all directions and tore at his clothes like hands scrabbling to steal them. The colors of the world around him turned pale and cold; all was white, gray, and black. He could see faint outlines of his companions hidden amidst the tall grass, but what he saw most clearly were the Kings of Men. Their faces were distorted, wispy, frail, and evil, but they were clearer than anything else in this twilight world. They all had their eyes on him and as they took a collective step towards him Boromir saw a cloaked figure at their feet slink away. Faramir was safe, but he had to lead the Wraiths away from the Fellowship. They could see him as clearly as he saw them, this he knew now, and they would follow him. He freed his arms from his pack and saw it pass from a thing of clear visibility to fog as it joined the world to which he did not presently belong.

He stood up and ran. He did not feel the grass whipping past his face as he cut through it, feeling rather than hearing the Nazgul bearing down on him from behind. His heart was pumping madly against his chest, hard enough to beat an imprint against the raw skin. When he thought he was hearing his companions call out to him, he turned back and then came to an abrupt halt. The Nazgul were nowhere to be seen. He was utterly alone on the plains that did not even know he existed. To the rest of the world, he was invisible.

Then he heard the whispers. They intermingled and became a deafening buzz in his ears. Here and there he imagined he could distinguish the voices of certain people: Gandalf, his father, his mother…

A blinding red light burst out of nowhere, baking him in its evil rays as he stood rooted to the spot. The tinted and pale scenery was swallowed in the color of blood as a giant, lidless, narrowed eye centered its gaze on him. Terrified beyond anything he had ever known, Boromir felt his blood run cold and his heart scream. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He was staring at the Dark Lord, what was left of him, and Sauron could see him as clearly as Boromir could distinguish the Eye's blackened pupil. There was no hiding now.

He tugged at the Ring at his finger, but it suddenly seemed loathe to let go, wrapping itself around his skin and bone with an iron fist. The more he pulled, the tighter it latched onto him until he could see something gray seeping out from under it and realized it to be his own blood. With a roar unheard by anyone, he wrenched the dreaded thing from his finger and stumbled back into a world of color and oncoming darkness. Night was almost upon him and he did not know where he had run to. The Nazgul were still unaccounted for, as were his companions. He could head back and attempt to regroup or he could continue on, stalking through the night until he came to some sort of shelter. What he needed now was a place to collect his wits after the terrible image of the Eye, an image that would never leave him for as long as he lived. His sword hilt felt heavy as he attempted to pull it from its scabbard, so instead he reached for his knife, taking comfort in the sharpness of it.

He could not tell which way he was traveling other than away from the spot that he had last been in the company of others. His fear mounted with every step he took through the wild grass until he felt as if he were wading through a sea of doubt and horror. His body was exhausted beyond any weariness he could ever remember and the urge to drop down where he stood was extremely tempting at the moment. He was just lowering his guard and preparing to sheath his dagger when a voice cried out, "Show yourself!"

With his gaze elsewhere occupied, Boromir had not noticed a lantern bobbing towards him through the darkness and now that it was mere feet away, he could clearly see three figures, all of considerably different height. One was a normal man's size, one was almost an entire three feet taller, and the third was about a third of the height of the normal-sized man. At first Boromir believed the short one to be a child or a Dwarf, but upon closer inspection he saw that the face belonged to an older man. He and the giant man both had blonde hair, though vastly different in color and length. The shorter man had a few golden blonde strands that somehow made the dirt and grime on his face presentable but the taller one's hair was almost the color of snow and it was extremely short—almost as if someone had burnt it off. The middle man had rather dark hair rich brown in color and a thin beard and he was the one who carried the lantern, but the shorter one was the one who had a short sword drawn.

"I'll not tell you again, show yourself or I will not hesitate to slay you once I find you!" shouted the shortest man with a deep, elegant voice quite unexpected for one of his height.

Boromir kept his dagger at hand and called out, "I am coming in and I have a weapon in hand."

"Keep the weapon where we can see it," ordered the tallest man.

Cautiously, Boromir approached the light, making sure to tuck the Ring away before he revealed himself. The three men observed him with equal vigilance until finally the tallest one asked, "Where do you hail from?"

"I am the son of the Steward of Gondor and I have lost my traveling companions."

"These are dangerous times to be traveling, my friend, but I see that you are well-armed," noted the regular sized man. "In our village we heard the cry of something most foul, though we cannot distinguish what, for we have never heard anything of the sort. The men in the village are not plentiful and so my friends and I set out to discover the source of the noise."

"It was not me, I can assure you," said Boromir, "but I can inform you that it was the Nazgul who were pursuing my companions and I, which is how I became separated. I do not know what has become of them, but I am merely passing through and do not wish you any unpleasantness."

"You look absolutely terrible," said the shortest, unabashed. "We might have a space to accommodate you for the night if you were to give us your name, stranger."

"I hardly think a name is of any consequence," said Boromir warily.

"Mine is Irlef, son of Urfel," said the tallest, lowering his own broadsword. It was not a fancy thing, rather rusted in some spots, but it was quite large and it looked as if it had been used on an enemy before. The fact that this giant of a man trusted Boromir enough to put his weapon aside eased Boromir's doubts ever so slightly. "The one who carries the lantern is my friend Norwerlas, son of Nomherlas and the last is my younger brother Mahren."

It did not surprise Boromir that two men of such different height would be brothers, but it did puzzle him that the two did not look even remotely alike. For one thing Mahren had a hardened look to him, an unpleasant scowl etched into his features whereas Irlef had an ever-saddened expression. Both of them, however, had underlying fear in their eyes and Boromir could see that though they did not completely trust him, they were willing to offer their home against a common enemy.

"I am Boromir, son of Denethor, and I would greatly appreciate any assistance you might be able to give me."

"This way, my friend, we must make haste, for the plains often yield a deadly enemy once the sun disappears."

Boromir fell into step behind Irlef, beside Norwerlas, in front of Mahren, and hoped that wherever his brother and friends were, that they had not met an undeserving fate.


	10. Chapter 10: Gambling With Words

The village was poor, this much Boromir could easily tell by night. There were few torches lit and only a select number of individuals stood watch. As he had been told, his three companions were some of the last men left in the village and so it was mostly boys and the elderly who stood watch, though they did so with eyes wide open. They took no notice of him, perhaps because the light was so dim that they could not see his clothing, but he was thankful nonetheless. The last thing he needed was for someone to remember his face from his attire and pass the word on.

"It's crowded inside," said Irlef apologetically, "but you'll find a spot somewhere to sleep if the children don't smother you with questions." As he led Boromir to a relatively smaller house than the others, he opened the door with a loud creak and beckoned Boromir inside. Inside was not much warmer and it was indeed cramped, but a great deal more comforting than all the places Boromir had had to bed down since setting out from Rivendell. He saw the shapes of four others on flimsy cots around the perimeter of one room. By the firelight he could make out a woman's face, a young man's of perhaps fourteen or fifteen years, and two smaller children all holding themselves to block out the cold.

"My wife and children," said Irlef. "I will explain things to her when she awakes, but for now, you may have my cot. I have watch duty."

"No, you must sleep tonight; he may take my place," said Mahren. He ducked back outside to join Norwerlas in the watch, leaving Boromir to sit down upon the end of Mahren's cot. He set his shield down beside him, but kept his sword on. Irlef draped his own blanket over the two younger children and then lay down beside his wife.

Boromir put his back to the straw and wood wall and pressed his hand over his heart where the Ring had shifted over to. Shadows danced in the firelight and for the most part the room was a thing of darkness but the small embers glowing in the pit flashed the vivid memory of the Eye into Boromir's head. He shielded his eyes against the fire and tried to ignore the throbbing of his heart and the Ring as one. He knew he would find no sleep this night.

Early morning brought about a greater chill as frost lingered in the air and as Boromir sat huddled and shivering, he heard the door open once more. He looked for someone to enter at a regular man's height, but when he saw golden blonde hair appear level with the handle, he took his hand quickly away from his heart which was rather difficult given that his fingers felt frozen in place. Mahren's face was not visible, but Boromir could see him extend his hand and beckon. Trying his best to not make noise as he rose from the cot, Boromir followed him outside where he stood to attention just beside the door.

"Sleep does not easily find you," said Mahren. "If I'd have known, I would not have given up my cot and made _you_ stand out here."

"I'm quite tired, but nightmares don't allow me the luxury of sleep. It's been a terribly long count of days since I slept a full night."

"The same could be said here. Since the last attack on my village several weeks ago I have seen the women fall into despair at the loss of their husbands, seen the boys start to wield the weapons they can find, and seen my brother succumb to grief as the days since his second born child's death. His name was Selward and he was a boy of twelve. When the Wildmen attacked, Irlef and I went to fight with Hyrem, Irlef's eldest son and Irlef gave Selward orders to protect the rest of the family. Two Wildmen came to this very house, broke in, and attempted to grab Irlef's wife Yarley and the two young girls, but Selward took up the only weapon he could find and attempted to defend his family. He killed one of the men, but the second stabbed him through the throat before Hyrem and I came back to kill him. We buried Selward's body on the hilltop overlooking this village and everyday Irlef goes to visit the grave. He does not have the same courage and strength that he possessed when he went to battle. Seeing a man of his height look so weak brings him down to my level, and that is saying something, my lord."

"I am no lord," said Boromir somewhat defiantly. He felt nothing short of disgust that people were living in such poverty with no way to fend for themselves while others claimed to be lords of the realm. He had no ill will towards Théoden and Eomer, but his heart went out to these people who had taken him in. They had nothing to offer him but shelter, however petty and somehow, he wished to repay them.

"Not a lord?" repeated Mahren. "Then how do you explain your clothes, your title, and your weapons? I don't believe that a man of your stature would travel in this country on foot with such elegant clothing, fine weaponry, and might I add, clean hair, and _not_ be a lord."

"And yet I say again, I am no lord. I hail from Gondor; my father is the Steward, but I fight alongside my men, I do not sit behind them urging them on. I offer my condolences for what has happened to your family and if fate is so kind, I would have King Théoden send riders to protect you."

"And what good will that do?" snapped Mahren. "The men will not come back, those who have fallen will not rise again and our village will fall out of history without history ever knowing that we existed. We are not so lucky as you, _my lord_."

Boromir's hand found his dagger. "Call me lord again and I shall make you smaller than you are now."

"Such honor there is in fighting someone of my size," said Mahren distastefully.

"I've seen you wield your short sword, and I know that you are capable of fighting with it. You should listen to what I have to say. I do not pretend that I am oblivious to what is happening here, but I can help stop it if you give me reason to. If I could protect this village I would, but only if you and your brother would be grateful. If not, I would wish for the children to be taken to the capital."

"Take what remains of our spirits while you're at it!"

"Your children will die, Mahren, and so will the women, and so will you if you stay here any longer. The Wildmen will come back for you."

"Did I mention that the Wildmen are doing quite a job of snatching our children on their own? They did not leave all the bodies of those they slew, nor did they slay all whom they fought. Some children, a few women, and two men were taken captive, one of them the brother of Norwerlas, Jorahr. Norwerlas goes to the East borders of the village every day, waiting for a brother who will never come back."

"I am sorry; I too am missing my brother."

"It was not my brother who was kidnapped, but I am feeling the pain of losing one since my brother's head is no longer here with me. Do not offer your condolences to me."

"I offer nothing to you if you receive it in such an ill manner. I have tried to be friendly, but your temper does not allow you be any more hospitable than you are now."

"With Saruman's forces stirring in the North and Sauron's in the East, I cannot afford to be hospitable these days. My brother and I offered you shelter and there our courtesy ends. I believe it best for you to be on your way."

"I require a horse and if you cannot give me that, I would have any sort of assistance you can spare until I find my companions. It is imperative that I meet up with them again."

"Any horses we have we cannot spare and we hardly have enough to feed you, much less ourselves. There is little else we can do for you."

"I journey South and East to Mordor," said Boromir, throwing caution to the winds. This man came from a dying village, a place where no one had hope, and this was where his anger came from. If he knew the reason for Boromir's wishes, he would not so hastily be ready to cast him out.

"Then you must be wishing a quick death," said Mahren in amusement.

"I am wishing to protect you all in the only way I know how at this point. Fighting mindless battles with Sauron's forces is no longer an option for me and so I am venturing into the land of Shadow to put an end to Sauron."

"And how would you do that?"

Boromir pulled out his chain and at the end of it, the Ring came into view, dangling like some trinket of a wagering game and yet Mahren's eyes were drawn to it. "Yes, you know what this is, do you not? You may live in this poor village, but you know the tales told of Isildur's bane, the One Ring of power, Sauron's greatest weapon. I hold it here, on the plains of the Wold within a dying village and show it to you so that you may understand why I must find my companions. We set out to destroy this cursed thing and I cannot accomplish my goal alone. I wish to remain here until the members of my Fellowship are found."

"Might I ask who travels with you?"

"Two Elves, five men, and one woman," said Boromir dismissively.

"Elves? You _are_ an important one, aren't you? And who might the men be?"

"My friends and my brother. Mithrandir traveled with us, but he was felled in Moria. I will not lose another companion from my stupidity. Those greater than I are the ones I sense are in the most danger and I would gladly step before them to take an arrow."

"Would you do the same for a man not even worth half of that greatness?" Mahren challenged.

"I would defend any man, woman, or child, and you would do well to remember that the next time you feel inclined to insult me. Do not test me. Are you going to help me or not?"

"And why should I? You've given me nothing and I cannot afford to spend anything when I already have so little to give my family."

"What if I could promise you and your village protection? What if I could lead you myself to Edoras?"

"I would be eternally grateful if you could, but you can't, and so we will not barter with words that are not ours to gamble upon."

"Oh, but I can promise this. If you allow me to stay here until my friends are found, I swear to you that I shall personally escort you to the capital. One of my companions is King Théoden, and two more are his nephew and niece. They would reward you with this protection if you assist me."

Mahren's mouth dropped open in shock. "The-the _king_? He travels with you? Our king, the King of Rohan goes on a suicidal errand with Elves and wizards and women while his people suffer under Saruman's White Hand?" He made a dirty face and spat in the mud. Boromir drew his dagger, slamming Mahren against the side of the house with the blade pressing against the small man's throat.

"You will take back your words. Théoden is doing is part to protect the people of Middle-earth as well as the people of Rohan. You dishonor him in thinking that he cares nothing for the realm. I would hear you speak an apology before I release you."

"Lord indeed; how noble you are in threatening an unarmed man."

"You are armed, sir, and though not with a proper weapon, you insulted my friend. If you believe yourself capable, hold your weapon at the ready and fight me."

A bell rang out in a small wooden tower and Mahren banged on the door, calling out, "Irlef, get up! There are Wildmen coming in!"

"No, idiot, there were three clangs; five means Wargs, four is Wildmen, two signifies Orcs, and three means Riders or men. Count them in your head, three clangs!" said Irlef's irritated voice from inside, but he appeared nonetheless with his broadsword. Norwerlas joined them carrying a one-handed axe looking quite anxious.

"Perhaps it is the men returning from Isengard."

"No men will ever return from Isengard, my friend, and it is best to stop wishing your life away," said Mahren with a glare at Boromir. "Your brother is dead."

"You lie," hissed Norwerlas. "He will come back."

"Where do the men come from?" asked Boromir of the bell tower lookout, stuffing his dagger away and replacing it in his hand with his sword.

"Northeast," said the guardsman. "There looks to be four or five of them."

Boromir stole into the night, creeping along against the shelter of the houses to where the lookout had spotted the men. The man must have had a very sharp eye indeed to have seen anything in the dead of night, but as Boromir's eyes grew accustomed to the dark, he saw four figures approaching. He raised his sword and said loudly, "Come no further before you reveal your business and lay down your arms!"

"I'll bid you to lay down your arms so that I may knock some sense into you!" responded an oily voice. Never before had Boromir been so happy to hear it.

Grima.


	11. Chapter 11: Honorable Men

It was a welcoming sight; Haldir, Grima, Théoden, and Eowyn looked for the most part unscathed by the firelight that Norwerlas supplied. Irlef and Mahren lowered their weapons when they saw that Boromir was welcoming his friends and accepting the pack he had taken off in the tall grass. Grima had a deep gash across his cheek and Théoden was limping slightly, but Boromir was thankful that nothing worse had happened.

"They were closing in quickly and I feared that we were about to lose Faramir as they drew their blades," said Haldir in relation to their journey. "I saw you with the Ring, Boromir, and I did warn you, but you ignored my pleas and slipped it upon your finger. You disappeared and they followed you. I realized that you had gone to buy us time and so we took the chance to continue onward, away from where they had found us, but two Nazgul had remained behind and we were separated as they chased us. I do not know where Lord Elrond, Faramir, Eomer, and Aragorn are, but I pray that they are safe. When you didn't come back, I feared the worst."

Boromir quickly related his own side of the story and introduced those who had taken him in. Mahren was quick in disguising his anger at the sight of Boromir's friends, but Boromir could still see his resentment. Mahren recognized Haldir for an Elf, Grima for an outsider, and the royal family as his king and lady. Eowyn's clothes could not hide her hair and face, exact replicas of her father's and Théoden's garb displayed his title as clearly as if he wore a banner with his name on it.

Irlef and Norwerlas bent down on one knee and bowed to Théoden, but Mahren remained standing, shaking his head slightly to himself. "_King_ Théoden," he said unpleasantly. "My liege, it is quite an honor to have you in our village, or what is left of it."

"Mind your tongue, brother," said Irlef under his breath. "Kneel before your king."

"Kneel before the man who abandoned his people to guard a loathsome piece of jewelry? My nephew is dead, my friend's brother is missing, most likely dead as well, and I am supposed to bend down on my knees and show my respect to him? No, the day my nephew rises from the dead and Jorahr comes back over the hills, I will drop to my knees and show homage to the one who proclaims himself my king."

"Disrespectful peasant," muttered Haldir under his breath.

Théoden held up a hand for peace and knelt down so that he was on even ground with Mahren. There was not much to read in his face, but what little emotion he did betray was not that of anger. "See me now, good man. I am here, in your village, and I see your suffering. I did not know that such horrors were happening since my leave. My son has been doing all he can to protect the people of Rohan, but our numbers are too few. I am sorry for my absence and if you would allow it, I would gladly escort you to my home where you may be free of such fear and poverty that you live in now."

"We don't need your help," said Mahren spitefully.

"You fool!" cried Norwerlas, rising to his feet. "Forgive me, my lord, but I wish to speak out. Saruman sends all under his command to overthrow the people of Rohan, to wipe out our entire race. The last time our village was attacked I saw creatures, fiercer and stronger than Orcs, twice as high and twice as hard to put down. Saruman is marshalling an army the likes of which I have not seen or heard of before and I saw those creatures take my brother. My blood and flesh was dragged away fighting back with all of his power, for he is nigh impossible to break, but I fear that under the torment of Saruman's army, he will not survive. My lord, I pray for his return, hope and look for it every day, but the day I see those Orc creatures again, I know that we will not be able to hold them off this time. We do need help, but we cannot leave while we still nurture hope that our loved ones will return."

"That may be true of those whose loved ones were borne away, but not for those who know that their loved ones will not be returning," said Irlef. "Selward will never come back and I have nothing left here in this dying, forsaken place. I would take that offer to go to Edoras, my lord."

"I will not leave," said Norwerlas stubbornly. "I will go to the hilltop today and tomorrow and every day until my brother returns and he will. Sauron himself could not keep Jorahr from coming back. He is an honorable man, a strong man, and while his family and friends live, he will keep fighting for us."

"An honorable man?" Mahren scoffed. "Do you forget why we wear our hair short, Norwerlas? Why is it that our noble king and his gentle niece have long golden hair and yet ours is short, yet yours is brown and your brother's was pale orange? Our hair is short because we are without honor; we never have been. We live in the dirt, harvest rocks, and fight with rusted blades. What honor is there in that? Do you see renown? No, we were born a disgrace and thus we shall die just as your brother did."

Norwerlas's hand was trembling with the axe in it and Boromir quickly stepped in front of Mahren, putting out his arm cautiously. "Violence is not the answer, my friend."

"Stand aside," said Norwerlas in fury, "this is not your quarrel. Mahren resents my brother because Jorahr is of the same title but the people of the village respect my brother more. My brother and Mahren are bastard children, but Mahren was born an imp."

Mahren unearthed a dagger from his sleeve and lunged around Boromir at Norwerlas with it. Grima pulled Norwerlas aside and matched Mahren's blade with his own. "This action is unwise."

"Jorahr _is_ an honorable man," Norwerlas insisted, choking on the emotion in his throat. "He amounted to that, earned it by protecting his people while Mahren sulked about his height and yet Mahren is still in a bewilderment about why he is but a shadow to our people. Well, now my brother the bastard is gone, yet to return, and you have a chance to rise to greatness, my little friend, but have you attempted to? No, you spit on my brother's memory and sulk just as you always have. You wish for your hair to be long? Earn it! Jorahr certainly earned it, but he does not see himself above any of us and he keeps his hair short. You will respect my brother until your dying day, for he saved your life in that last battle on our borders. It was he the Orc beasts took, not you!"

"Enough of this," said Théoden superiorly. "Nothing is solved by quarreling about things that could not be prevented and cannot be undone. I ask to remain here until my nephew is found along with the rest of our companions and then I shall have him escort all of those who wish to leave this village to Edoras. If there are those who desire to remain behind, they may." He put his hand on Norwerlas's shoulder comfortingly. "We will wait for your brother, my son."

Boromir saw the hope in the man's face as he eagerly led Théoden into the village. Haldir, Grima, and Eowyn remained behind to speak with Boromir and their faces fell in unison.

"Do all of our people live with such hate in their hearts?" asked Eowyn brokenly. "Men, women, _children_ taken from their families by Saruman. We must put a stop to it; we must resist him and end this suffering."

"What would you suggest, my lady?" asked Grima. "Four of our companions are missing and we are in a village inhabited by the elderly and the extremely young. Marching to wage war on Saruman would be a needless waste of blood. We cannot hope to overthrow the wizard unless we have an army and that is one thing that is not possible to attain. If we had an army we might be able to resist Saruman in some way but without one, we are lost. We need-,"

"Gandalf," said Boromir. "We would have solved this problem long before today if we still had him with us."

"But since we do not, we must find the answers ourselves," said Haldir wisely.

"Help will not come to us; we must send out word for it or we will never make it across the plains if what Norwerlas says about these Orc creatures is true."

"Not Orcs," said Haldir, closing his eyes as if denying himself sight would make the words he was about to speak untrue. "Uruk-hai. A vicious mutation made to kill and trained to feel no pain. They were buried alive deep beneath the earth, but if these are what Norwerlas saw, Saruman is most likely marshalling an army to sweep through Rohan and cleanse the land of its people before moving on to Gondor which is already under siege from the East. I see little hope for those who were taken by the Uruks, including this Jorahr, rest his soul."

Still with no sleep to brag of, Boromir rose at first light to go with Norwerlas to the village borders and survey the vast lands around them. Norwerlas marked the ground with a scruff from his boot.

"This is the last spot I saw him, kicking, clawing, and biting for all he was worth," he said. "He cried out words to me, but I could not hear them; I was too far away. The Orc beasts clubbed him over the head and dragged him away."

"I believe they are called Uruk-hai," Boromir corrected.

"It matters not what they are called; they are all evil," said Norwerlas, frowning. "I know not what they will do to my brother, but they cannot break him. He will find a way back here, I'm certain of it."

"I envy you for the faith you have in such a state when I hardly hold any for myself," said Boromir. "How can you keep on believing that he will return?"

"Family means everything to my brother. My father sired him six years before I was born, for he was birthed by another woman, Jorahr's mother. She died in childbirth and Jorahr was taken to live with my mother and father, to be raised as my mother's own son, which she tried to do until I was born. My birth was almost a death sentence to Jorahr, for my mother cast him out of the family and would not look at him, not let him near me until I was old enough to stand on my own. My father forbade our separation and Jorahr cared for me as a true brother would, never noticing that he was different. He only thought that my mother simply did not love him. It was only after her death that he discovered that he was not her child. My father slit his own throat when my mother died, leaving Jorahr and I to fend for ourselves. I was but fourteen and he nearly a man. Urfel and his wife took us in, cared for us as sons and we lived alongside Irlef and Mahren, but Mahren always resented Jorahr. Everyone in the village knew that my brother and Mahren were bastard children, but Jorahr was accepted whereas Mahren was not. To this day he and my brother have not made peace."

"How was he taken?" asked Boromir kindly.

"He and Mahren were here on this hill fighting the Uruks when they saw Wildmen stealing into the village towards Irlef's house. My brother delivered a blow to Mahren's head and sent him tumbling down the hill so that he would avoid capture and could go to Selward's aid. Jorahr was taken and Mahren was not, yet still the imp squashes my brother's name underfoot. When Jorahr returns, I will see to it that Mahren drops down in the mud and begs forgiveness."

"Forgive me, but how can you be sure that Jorahr will return?"

"It is the one thing I hold on to, the one thing I have, and I must hope or I will have as much to live for as Mahren. It is with me that Jorahr first felt truly accepted as a normal child and if he should return and I am gone, it would finish him. He has lost so much, my brother, and therefore I cannot lose faith."

The bell of the tower rang out twice and Boromir drew his sword as Norwerlas took the axe out of his belt. The two of them saw a party of Orcs, no stronger than fifteen appear on the Northern horizon, beating their weapons against their breast plates to taunt the villagers. Behind them came six fearsome beasts much taller and broader from which came terrible, low roars and then as the bell clanged a further five times, Boromir saw with a sinking heart that three Wargs had appeared at the rear. They were terrible wolf beasts, bred into carrying out barbaric deeds as Orc mounts. All of the fell creatures shouted their battle cries in an unholy harmony of sound that sent the skin on Boromir's nape into shivers.

"What are they waiting for?" asked Norwerlas anxiously.

"They aren't; they're leaving."

True enough, the enemy was backing away, still shouting until they were far enough away to turn tail and run without being pursued. One of them, however, did not run but stumbled forward like a drunk, falling every few steps, coming to its feet uneasily, and crashing down into the mud once again.

A cry from the village commanded, "Kill the cursed creature!"

"Aye, give orders from the safety of your house, Mahren," said Norwerlas distastefully.

Boromir, however, cast his arm up above his eyes to shield them from the sun and saw that the creature staggering about was in fact, not a creature. "It's a man," he announced. "The Orcs left behind a man."

"A Wildman, no doubt-,"

"No, I see no long hair. The man appears wounded. We should go to him."

He and Norwerlas set off cautiously at a brisk jog and when they were within shooting distance of him, Norwerlas suddenly broke into a run, flinging his axe aside. He cried out to the villagers as he flung out his arms to catch the man who fell into them, completely spent. Boromir arrived at their side and saw blood caking one side of the man's face as well as most of his body. His tunic was barely hanging on by a few strands of cloth; his clothing was muddy and blood-stained. Beneath the red coating most of his hair, Boromir saw a faint trace of pale orange.

"It's Jorahr," said Norwerlas.


	12. Chapter 12: A Captive Returned

Mahren was at a loss for words when he arrived at the back of the surrounding villagers, all of whom had come to gather around Jorahr and examine his bloodied body. Boromir came onto one knee to support Norwerlas, but upon closer inspection he saw that Jorahr was unharmed. The blood coating his body was not his, just splatters and smears, though black Orc blood also had found its way onto him. He was still visibly shaken and his eyes could not focus on one thing as he trembled in his brother's arms.

"Jorahr, I'm here, brother, speak to me," said Norwerlas beseechingly, shaking his brother's shoulders slightly.

"He's not of his right mind just now," said Grima. "We should take him inside and light a fire, keep him as warm as we can. I do not need to touch his forehead to know that he is most likely suffering from a fever. Come." He, Boromir, Theoden, and Norwerlas lifted Jorahr, carefuly, gently, and carried him downhill, stepping with great prudence. Inside Norwerlas's house, they placed Jorahr on his own cot and Grima set to tending the fire while Eowyn wet a cloth to mop away the blood on his skin. Boromir found a thin blanket that he cast over Jorahr's weary body. Haldir was keeping the villagers at bay outside the door with some rather reluctant help from Mahren. Irlef was keeping watch on the hilltop in case Saruman's messengers returned, leaving five of them to cram into the small house with Jorahr.

"Why did they bring him back?" asked Eowyn, dabbing at Jorahr's face with the cloth. "Saruman would not keep prisoners for ransom and any captives he takes would never leave Isengard. Did your brother escape?" Appealing to Norwerlas, she did not see Jorahr make the sudden movement of seizing her wrist and she gave a start.

"Fire," he gasped in a throaty, gravelly voice. "Screaming…whips…blood."

Grima moved forward to loosen Jorahr's grasp, but Eowyn put up her hand for him to back away. She leaned closer to Jorahr and stroked the clean part of his face with one tender white knuckle. "Rest now, Jorahr, you are safe. Close your eyes and sleep." She helped ease his head back down onto the cot where his eyelids drooped and his breathing slowed until his mouth opened very slighty in sleep. Eowyn gently slipped her wrist out of his grip and lowered her voice.

"With rest he will be all right tomorrow morning."

"We will question him when he awakes, but for now let him sleep," said Theoden. "He has traveled far, that much is clear. While most of the blood is not his, his legs and knees are badly cut from the many falls he took while walking. Whether he escaped or was purposely returned here, I cannot say, but he should be taken to Edoras along with all the people of this village. It is too dangerous to remain here any longer, regardless of whether our companions are with us or not. We must leave now and hope that we will find the others on the road to the capital. If Eomer is alive, he will be leading the others home and it is there that we shall meet again."

"There are some who are none too willing to leave," Boromir pointed out.

"They will leave or be left behind to die," said Grima. "It is foolish to remain here due to a loathing for the king and I speak freeley when I say that Mahren is the only one who would wish to stay now that Jorahr has come back. We will leave on the morrow an hour after dawn, if it would please the king," he added with a respectful bow to Theoden who nodded his approval.

"Pass the word," he told Norwerlas. "I will sit by your brother's side until you return."

When Norwelas had gone, Theoden turned a very grave face towards Jorahr. "Saruman will pay dearly for this."

Boromir said nothing, for unless they could find an army to have at their disposal, Saruman would never pay the consequence for his crimes.

Haldir woke him from a troubled sleep outside of the house the following morning. He had slept while Grima stood watch, but there was no room for him anywhere else so he had had to curl up beside the straw for the horses. It was an hour past dawn and Haldir informed him that Jorahr was awake and prepared to speak. Rubbing the weariness from his eyes, Boromir followed the Elf inside where Theoden, Eowyn, and Norwerlas were gathered around Jorahr as he took a pouch of water for his parched throat. Most of the blood was gone from his face and arms, though some still remained in his hair. The color had returned to his face and now that his eyes weren't quivering, he looked hard-faced and expressionless.

"They dragged us on for days," he began, closing his eyes as if to recall the image of his captivity. "They didn't beat us more than the occasional strike from behind with the blunt end of their weapons to get us moving faster. When we arrived in Isengard, we saw nothing but mud, fire, and death. Below us were caverns of awesome height that they took us into and stored us behind thick metal bars until Saruman decided that it was time to question us. Every day we saw creatures called Uruk-hai being pulled alive from the mud and outfitted with armor. I lost count the first day of how many soldiers Saruman was marshalling. Two of the children hadn't survived the journey and upon our arrival another two women were taken away, leaving just five of us. We never saw the women again. One of the children, a boy nearing manhood stole a poker from the fire and skewered an Orc with it. I attempted to defend him, but he was struck down before my eyes and fed to the Wargs which they keep in an even deeper pit. We were fed scraps of some unnamable sort until the fourth day of our imprisonment when we saw the wizard. He asked us for news of our king, asked us if we had heard anything regarding a trinket of gold, but when we couldn't yield the answers he desired, he had Briares beaten, tortured, and killed. I saw it all from my cell and it happened close enough that Briares's blood splattered all over me. This repeated every day until I was the last captive left alive. I was dragged before Saruman, forced to kneel, and look up into his cruel, evil face. He told me that I was to be set free, that his Orcs would lead me home, and he said nothing more. When last I saw Isengard, the place was alive with thousands of these terrifying soldiers. I was bound to a Warg's saddle and made to run after it for all hours of the day and sometimes into the night until my feet bled. They forced blood and raw meat upon me to eat and several times they had to hold me down to make me stomach their foul rations. But they never struck me more than a clout every now and then to my shoulder blades with the flat of their swords to make me move faster. I feared to sleep, feared to stay awake, and dreaded the day when I would no longer be able to run. In my every waking moment, in every flash of a dream, I saw the other captives being slaughtered, I heard their screams. Soon I began to hallucinate as I ran, almost drifting into unconsciousness until I no longer heard the words being spoken around me. Once or twice I was dragged along the ground over rocks, weeds, and thorns until the Orcs noticed that I had fallen and then they picked me up again. I came out of my stupor on the hillside."

"Why would Saruman release you?" asked Norwerlas. "Isn't there anything he said? He must have had a reason to let you free. If he showed so little regard for human life so as to murder women and children, what is one more peasant man to him?"

"There is something much more sinister at work here," said Haldir gravely. "I fear that Saruman may be using Jorahr in a way similar to how he used to use Grima."

"What does that mean?" asked Eowyn.

"It means that we must be leaving now," said Theoden. "Is the cart ready to transport your brother, Norwerlas?"

"It is, my lord."

"I do not requre a cart to travel," said Jorahr, pushing himself up into a position that would enable him to rise. "I can walk."

"Brother, have you not seen your legs and feet?" said Norwerlas quietly. "They are swollen and bruised. If you ever wish to walk again, you must allow them time to rest and heal. Put your pride aside and do this for me; ride on the cart."

"I will not, not when the young or elderly might take my place. I have no right sitting through the journey when others have walked much farther than me and not had a proper chance to rest. My lady," here Jorahr bent forward at the neck and bowed to Eowyn, "you shall take my place on the cart."

"I am quite capable of walking, kind sir, but if you wish to do me a favor, I would ask that you ride upon the cart until our healer claims that you are able to stand. This is no shame to your honor. You have traveled for many days and have had to endure countless hardships to bring us this news. Without you, we would not know of Saruman's army, but now that we do know, we must make all haste for the capital and having you walk would not help our cause."

Jorahr looked quite dejected and Norwerlas told her in a low voice, "As I have mentioned before, my lady, my brother is an unbreakable man and even if his legs were cut out from underneath him, he would still try to walk."

Eowyn leaned forward and kissed Jorahr's scarred forehead. "For me, Jorahr, take this time to heal and then I shall see to it that you restore your honor in whichever way you find most fitting."

"I would protect you, my lady," said Jorahr with close to no emotion in his words. "I would ask that you allow me to be your sworn sword. Regardless of what my attire may lead you to believe, I can handle a sword."

"You shall have this honor if you deem it worthy and if you ride the cart. Do you agree to these terms?"

"For you, my lady, I do."

Boromir and Norwerlas carried Jorahr to the horse-drawn cart just outside the door which was already loaded up with Irlef's two daughters and wife who was a sickly thing quite pale in complexion. Jorahr sat upright, legs dangling off the side of the cart as he hung his head in shame. Irlef, Mahren, and Grima were strapping the last of their supplies to the horse's saddle. Norwerlas led the horse up the muddy road towards the spot where the villagers had gathered to await further instruction. Theoden spoke his piece, advising the people to keep a wary eye on the horizon and to protect each other. He gave them hope, but Boromir kept none for himself since the majority of the villagers were the elderly and very young.

"This puts a delay on our journey," said Haldir as they began their long trek South. "If Lord Elrond and the others happen upon this village and find it abandoned, I hope that Aragorn will examine the ground and find our trail. This is the only way that I believe we will be united unless Eomer has already chosen to lead them to Edoras."

"That is what we must pray for, my friend. Even with such time constraints as the ones we are under now, we must set even more time to assist these people. They are my people and yours, for they are _people_ and innocent ones at that. They deserve better than what they have received thus far. Their situation cannot exist in such poverty any longer and we cannot be so selfish as to abandon them here while we continue on into Mordor."

"The path that we lead them on takes us further from our destination and closer to the one location we cannot afford to go."

"I do not plan on being taken or travelling to Isengard. Throw that thought away and focus on the task at hand." Telling Haldir this was easy enough, but once they set out from the village, Boromir realized that his words were more of a command to himself than anyone else.


	13. Chapter 13: Bleak Prospects

A full day's sluggish march might once have had Boromir inwardly begging for a rest, but as the sun danced along the mountain tops in a last display of light, he felt extremely unaccomplished at the distance he and Theoden had led the villagers. If they could not pick up their pace and make up for time lost in the days to come, it was more likely than not that one of Saruman's scouting parties would catch them in an ambush. The very thought made Boromir suggest to Theoden that they continue their trek through the night, or at the very least, cut their rest time in half, but the king vetoed his proposition.

"These are not disciplined soldiers, Boromir," Theoden reminded him as they watched Norwerlas help his brother down from the cart. "We are lucky to get as far as we have in one day with the condition of these people and not lose any on the journey."

"I fear we will lose more if we don't hasten to Edoras with all speed," said Boromir in an undertone so that the brothers would not hear him.

"I know what you fear, but we cannot push them any harder than we already have. If it comes to it, we will do our best to defend them, but they all surely would have died had we allowed them to remain in that forsaken village."

"And would you call it a fairer death to die of hunger and cold than to be ripped to pieces by Wargs on the plains?" asked a voice from waist height and Boromir looked down to see Mahren glaring up at them. Being so small had its uses in allowing the man to sneak up on unsuspecting individuals, though Boromir found it irritating at best.

"Death is not fair in any sense, though I would trade a false sense of security for a chance of survival," said Theoden wisely.

"You might, but you do not have a say over us," said Mahren. "You have no right in deciding where we die. You would have us risk our lives on a death march to the capitol, relying on the small chance that we all will reach Edoras alive? We travel at a corpse's pace, leaving plain tracks for even a blind Warg to follow. You've doomed us all."

"That'll be enough out of you," snapped Grima, appearing from the growing shadows as a part of them save for his ever-pale face. "I cannot make you respect your king, nor can I deal out punishments for your actions in the name of the royal house, but I can make you extremely sorry that you ever opened your mouth if you insult my companions."

Mahren was about to reply when Grima unsheathed the poison-tipped dagger he carried and shoved it under the imp's nose. "No one is forcing you to journey with us, but if you remain with us, you will keep a civil tongue and keep your despairing thoughts to yourself or this blade will find you long before a Warg's teeth do. Now off with you."

The half-man scurried away and Grima put his dagger away to a disapproving look from the king.

"That was ill handled. We are here to protect these people, Grima, not threaten them."

"Forgive me, my lord, but that man is not one of these people, nor do I believe he ever wished to be. He is as scorned as I, but with an attitude much unhealthier for those around him. To keep the balance, he must be taught his place, for he has long been allowed to waggle his tongue however he likes to whomever he likes with no fear of retribution. As a man of Rohan myself and of no noble family nor high rank, I am the only one here qualified to speak to him on his level."

Weary in expression, Theoden nodded resignedly. As king, he no doubtedly could not condone mistreatment of his people, but with every situation there were exceptions and Mahren was the biggest exception Boromir had ever seen.

The villagers drew straws on who would take first watch and Grima volunteered to join them, setting off into the heart of their rather small camp to ensure all was quiet and that the fires were kept burning low. Irlef's daughter brought a thin soup conjured up by her sickly mother, but Boromir and Theoden accepted their small bowls gratefully and downed their portions in two quick gulps, sending their compliments back with the girl. Presently Haldir joined them as they overlooked the camp, each lost in his own thoughts. An Elf of little words, he said nothing as he stood sentry.

The wind swept through the valley, finding its way into clothing and chilling exposed skin so that Boromir had to sit on his hands to keep them from freezing. He hoped that wherever Faramir was, it was warmer than here. And yet the cold was nothing to the icy golden ring pressing against his chest. The Ring seemed to be sucking up the remaining warmth from Boromir's body in a futile attempt to heat itself, leaving Boromir far colder than he would have been had he not had the burden around his neck.

He must have betrayed a shiver, for Theoden removed his own cloak and draped it over Boromir's shoulders in a gesture that reminded Boromir painfully of his father. He did miss his father, but not as the man who awaited his triumphant return from Rivendell with the Ring as a bartering tool; he longed for the father who would set aside time from his Stewardly duties to teach his sons. He wished that Denethor had extended his dedication for Boromir to Faramir, a boy without a father's love. And then in a rush of affection, Boromir reminded himself that Faramir did have the equivalent of a father's love from the fallen wizard and wished now more than ever that Gandalf was still with them. Ever had he been a light in the dark for Boromir's family.

"…let him sleep."

He must have drifted off, but continued to feign sleep, hoping that dreams or nightmares might quickly find him again so that he would not have to unintentionally eavesdrop on another conversation, this time between the king and Haldir.

"I did not expect him to make it so far on his own," said Theoden. "I have seen and know well his abilities in combat, but factoring the weight of his burden puts him at a disadvantage. When the Nazgul descended upon us, I felt for certain that by drawing them off, he was as good as signing his own execution form. He had been strong enough to resist before, but with the Nine, I expect that he could no longer hold back the Ring's pull."

"It was not the Ring's influence that caused him to give in," Haldir defended. "One of the Wraiths was about to deliver the mortal blow to his brother. By slipping on the Ring, Boromir was able to give Faramir the chance to escape. It was his concern for his brother which caused him to do that one forbidden act."

"Noble his intentions may have been, but it is highly likely that Sauron has now seen Boromir with his own Eye and knows his face as well as his name. Boromir has made himself known to the enemy and it will be that much more difficult to defend him and nigh impossible to hide."

"He knows this."

"And yet he proceeded to do it, did he not? He threw away his greatest advantage for his brother. This tells me that he might sacrifice the world before allowing harm to come to Faramir."

"You cannot blame him for that, not when you would do the same thing for your family. Your pride and honor mingle with your sense of duty to your family and your people. You sit there upon the frosted ground watching over a small count of peasants because as king, you must show them strength. Had you so wished, you might have passed through the village without them ever knowing your true identity. We might have taken Boromir and gone on our way to complete the task set before us, but you diverted from that path to help your people."

"You speak truly," admitted Theoden with a hint of admiration. "I have seldom come into contact with your kind, but you are the first I have known to defend a man when it would fall into custom for Elves to degrade us."

"I am not alike in any way to other Elves you have met," said Haldir darkly. "I have lived many centuries and seen my people abandon the other races in their darkest hours. Elves alone are permitted to enter the Undying Lands, and yet I feel that we deserve it least. I can never erase eons of dishonorable conduct, but I will do my part to bring peace to this world before I decide my own fate."

Presently Boromir heard two new voices coming closer and decided that the time for false sleep was at an end. He sat up, forcing a bleary-eyed look on to his face and yawning in what he hoped was a convincing expression as Grima and Eowyn trudged up out of the valley.

"Second watch begins," said Grima to Haldir and the Elf strode down the hill to replace him. Grima rubbed his hands together for warmth and nodded to Boromir.

"How fares Jorahr?" asked Theoden as Eowyn sat down beside him.

"He would be worse off if he had walked today," Eowyn noted. "But he will continue to ride the cart, as it is my wish."

"And will he become my lady's personal guard as promised upon arrival in Edoras?" asked Grima, though Boromir noted with a trace of—perhaps jealousy?

If Eowyn detected any ill feelings from him, she disguised it well, for she skillfully deflected the question with another, "Do you believe that I will remain in Edoras long enough to have use of a personal guard, Grima?"

"You will," said Theoden before Grima could respond. "We are now home, the place I intended to send you with escort, had you remained in Rivendell. We are closer now to Mordor than I had dared hoped for, and our journey will not become easier as we enter enemy territory. The danger increases tenfold with every league closer to the East, and I would have you remain in Edoras with my son."

"Have I not proven myself worthy to be a part of this Fellowship?" Eowyn demanded, standing up with indignity. "I know you well, Uncle, and you were grateful to have me along instead of having me remain in the Elven outpost. My presence has done you good, easing your mind of one large worry, and now you tell me that you wish me to stay in my bedchamber as you, and my brother, and my dear friends once again ride off?"

"I do not wish it, Eowyn, I command it," said Theoden with a finality that did not meet his face. It pained him to raise his voice to his niece, but Boromir knew the reasoning of his decision. The king's worry beforehand might have been that he would never know if Eowyn reached Edoras safely, but having her with them on their journey ensured her arrival at the capitol. Now that they were destined for Edoras anyway, Theoden could willingly leave her there as they completed the final stage.

"Have ever I disobeyed you, Uncle?" cried Eowyn desperately, and though the darkness shielded them, Boromir heard the emotional choke in her voice as tears cascaded down her face. "Have I ever given you reason to think that I would not do as you commanded? A loyal subject, a loyal niece I have ever been, but I will not go where you will me to."

"I do this as an act of love, dear one," said Theoden, now standing to rise above her. "Should I fall in battle, my soul would never rest knowing that I might have led you to death."

"I also act out of love, can you not see that?"

"My lady," said Boromir, stepping between them, "I trust your uncle's judgment as well as I would trust Gandalf's if he were still with us. Gandalf would also will you to stay, to be the people of Rohan's beacon of hope in absence of their king. A braver woman I have never known and forever shall I be grateful for your company in this Fellowship, but Mordor lies before us, and death is not the only evil that would await a woman, if I may be so bold as to say. As Ringbearer, I beg you to do as your uncle bids."

"Never have I wished more to be anything but a woman," said Eowyn. "I believe it would be best to sever ties now to cushion the blow of watching my loved ones disappear over the hills."

The statement was meant to sting, and sting it did. Theoden bowed his head in shame and Boromir stepped back from Eowyn, but Grima extended his hand to rest it on her shoulder. Her own hand shot out like a serpent, striking him across the face with a harsh, final sound that seemed to echo across the plains.

"Do not touch me," she said shrilly and stalked away.

Grima gently pressed two fingers to the place where she had hit him and remarked in a tone that was practiced in concealing emotion, "She has a strong hand. I expect that there may be some discoloring on the morrow."

"She will never forget this," said Theoden, struggling to hold back tears of his own. "She will never forgive."

/ /

Endless miles of trudging through flattened yellow grass and mud. Unchanging landscape extending forever in all directions. The slow, methodical creak of a wagon wheel. An old woman's labored cough. A hungry child crying out for milk.

Boromir's life existed in a constant pattern. He exchanged few words as the days dragged on and he lost count after ten. The Fellowship had grown cold since Eowyn's emotional departing. Now the four of them, Haldir, Grima, Theoden, and himself, could not bring themselves to console her, not that they hadn't tried. Thinking that Haldir might have more success since he had not been present at her dismissal, Theoden sent the Elf to reason with her, but whatever approach he had attempted, it failed dismally. Grima was ever persistent in following her and speaking words of comfort to her, which he would not have dared to do in Eomer's presence, but Theoden had given his consent for Grima to be his niece's guardian in her brother's absence.

She would walk alongside the cart bearing Jorahr and allow the injured man to speak long hours to her, much to Grima's dismay. Boromir watched the exchange between Eowyn and Jorahr from the rear of the traveling troupe with Haldir alongside him.

"She wears a false smile," Haldir observed. "Her presence encourages Jorahr to continue wooing her, but she walks beside him to distance herself from Grima. It is her way of determining how deeply dedicated Grima is to her."

Boromir, who knew little of the way women's minds worked, was surprised at the Elf's observations. He knew Grima to be entranced by Eowyn, but since Faramir too had been taken with the woman's beauty, he paid it no heed.

"She is trying to extinguish the fire that has grown inside of her for us all, but her attempts are futile," Haldir continued. "As he has grown to care for her, so has she become fond of Grima. They do not dare do more than speak to one another, especially in the presence of the king who would frown upon his niece's romantic affiliations with a low-born man, but there is no denying what is present for us to see."

"Has anyone ever told you that you are perhaps a mite too perceptive, my friend?" asked Boromir to which Haldir smiled ever so slightly.

"Indeed, I have been told, which is a very small reason why I have not seen fit to return to my home in the Golden Wood."

As night fell, the same dismal mood claimed the camp that had plagued them since their departure from the village. Eowyn slept underneath Jorahr's cart beside Irlef's wife and daughters while Irlef patrolled the perimeter with the other first watch guards. Boromir settled himself down with his back to a sloped slab of rock, watching Mahren turn fretfully in his sleep just feet away from where Grima lay still as death. Reaching underneath his tunic, Boromir ran his thumb against the flat side of the Ring, almost believing that he could hear an eerie musical voice emitting from it.

In this pattern of never-changing nothingness, to slip the Ring upon his finger would be a welcome escape from his current plight. How appealing a different life, any other life sounded now when all seemed so bleak and dreary. Gandalf dead, his brother missing among others, his current companions slowly drifting apart, the promise of terrible danger before him…a venture into a different realm was almost painful to wish for.

Boromir put his middle finger flat against the Ring, lingering on the brink of temptation. The musical voice was so welcoming, so calming, pleading…

A hand closed sharply around his wrist and Boromir reached for the dagger at the back of his belt with his free hand when he saw Haldir's pointed face scowling down at him.

"Another precious few seconds and I might have been too late," he said warningly.

"How long were you watching me?" asked Boromir indignantly.

"Someone always is, better us than _him_," said Haldir and Boromir did not have to ask who he meant. "The power of the Ring strengthens the closer we come to the Shadowlands, Boromir, and you must present a strong front if you are to conquer it. Do not give in to temptation so soon when the most difficult stage of our journey lies yet before us."

Just then, a scream rent the air, jerking the entire camp into terrified wakefulness. Boromir and Haldir drew their swords, rushing inward to join Grima and protect the cart where Eowyn still lay. As they took up stance around it, she came out from under, her own sword catching the faint traces of moonlight above.

"Orcs?" asked an elderly man in a terrified whisper.

"Wargs?" guessed another.

Norwerlas came stumbling down the hill towards them with only two of the three first watch guards following in his wake. He fell to his knees before Boromir, gasping out, "We never saw them until they were upon us. They took Grendlon."

"How many?" asked Haldir.

"It was difficult to say; the mass of the Wargs shielded their numbers," said another guard.

"They might be reporting back to a larger party; we must leave!" said Irlef.

"It would be easier for them to pick us off one by one as we ran," argued Mahren.

All eyes turned to Boromir, but he was searching for Theoden in the crowd and finally spotting him, made his way forward. "These are your subjects," he told the king. "You know my stance, as it has been from the beginning, but only you can lead them with authority. I will accept your decision either way, but you must decide now while there may yet be time."

Theoden had not a moment of hesitation. He brought himself up to full height and raised his voice for all to hear. "Those who cannot move quickly must be carried, by arms, horse, or cart. Those who are strong enough must assist in any way possible. Swordsmen and archers to the outsides and the rear; fire at anything that moves. Do not fall behind unless you wish to be mistaken for an enemy. We do not stop until daylight."

As the camp fell into action, Theoden assigned the Fellowship and known villagers their positions. "Norwerlas, on the left flank. Irlef, the right. Jorahr, if you can ride horseback, you may wield a sword and cover the rear. Boromir, Haldir, also take the left. I will go right. Eowyn…"

His niece bit her inner lip, awaiting orders with narrowed eyes.

"Lead them home, Eowyn," said Theoden and his niece disappeared into the crowd to find her position. When she had gone, Theoden added, "Grima, do not leave her side."

"Yes, my lord."

Boromir and Haldir ran left as commanded, weapons at the ready as their footfalls beat out a new, steady rhythm in the flight for survival.

**For the longest time I thought I'd be better off abandoning this story since I couldn't seem to get it to go anywhere, but I missed my yearly viewing of LOTR, so perhaps that had something to do with my lack of inspiration. I'm two films in now and starting to feel the creative juices flowing once again.**


	14. Chapter 14: Blood on the Plains

Dawn was coming, but not quickly enough. The first Warged rider came from behind and Haldir spun around mid-run, continuing to sprint backwards as he narrowed his sights along his arrow shaft and sent it spiraling into the foul beast. The Warg's Orc rider was thrown forward far enough that the rear guard had to dispatch it. At intervals they sprang in, sometimes in stronger numbers, sometimes in hopeful individual sneak attacks.

When a faint blue hue appeared on the horizon, Boromir thought he could see a giant mound rising up before them, though it was still too dark to tell. Their first casualty happened on the right, apparently a woman had broken from the ranks in hysteria and attempted to outrun the enemy and Boromir could hear her screaming long after they left her behind. A Warg dragged off another man in front of Boromir when the man tripped.

Boromir had not yet had to use his own sword, as the archers and Haldir had kept the Wargs back, but as the blue continued to stretch across the blackened sky, he heard heavy footfalls and an animalistic growl close in on him. Without seeing, he swung his sword, catching a fearsome beast at the midriff. He did not linger to see if he had completely killed the creature or simply wounded it, but continued running, realizing only after that the size of his opponent was larger than any man ever to walk the earth, though it fought just like one.

Presently the large mound Boromir had mistaken for a figment of his imagination came into better view and without thinking or waiting for a command from the king, he took his horn and pressing it to his lips, blew out three short blasts. A long, tense moment of silence followed before he heard the reply, a higher pitched horn with a dip in its tone before resonating at a high octave.

Edoras.

But as the capital of Rohan sat as the most welcoming sight ever beholden by Boromir, the enemy launched their final attack in full force. With the lightening sky Boromir saw what had to be close to two hundred heavily armored beasts marching in thunderous rhythm towards them with dozens of Warg riders on either side. Their banners caught the first ray of sunlight and Boromir saw the stark white hand of Saruman's insignia.

Even with actual walls to put between themselves and this small army, the people of Rohan could not hope to repel Saruman's soldiers.

"To Edoras!" Theoden cried to alert his men atop the walls. "Warriors, rally to me!"

The small swarm of villagers ran past Boromir and Haldir who halted to answer Theoden's call. Along with the Fellowship, eight villagers joined their ranks, Norwerlas, Irlef, and Mahren among them. The thirteen of them retreated slowly, keeping the enemy in sight and waiting for the onslaught. Boromir now had his shield out, protecting Norwerlas on his left who was armed with the same rusted sword he had carried from his village. On his right Eowyn had donned the helmet she stole from the Rivendell armory, her breathing coming short and nervously.

It was on all of their minds to turn tail and sprint the distance to Edoras's wide open gate which the villagers were streaming through, but they also knew that as soon as they exposed their backs to Saruman's beasts, they would be cut down.

"We will hold here," said Theoden and he did not have to add, _Until help arrives_ because they all were silently thinking, hoping for it.

"We'll be slaughtered," said Mahren.

"Your neighbors are safe," said Boromir. "That which you wished for them has now come to pass. Defend them with honor."

Now with a proper look at the hulking beasts, Boromir saw that they appeared to be massive Orcs, but then heard Grima whisper a foreign word in horror, "Uruk-hai." The Warg rider at the head of the army pointed its scythe challengingly at the small band of resistance, signaling the charge.

A horn behind them blared and Boromir dared to glance over his shoulder to see Jorahr still atop his horse leading what had to be at least sixty Rohirrim riders in full gallop. Theoden gave another cry and led the band of warriors in their own charge to match his riders. The horses met the Wargs first and several on both sides went down, trampled underhoove and underpaw. The lengthy spears the Uruk-hai carried took down the front row of riders who were either impaled or thrown further into the enemy lines. Boromir slashed, cutting out an Uruk-hai's legs from underneath it. He hefted his shield high instinctively and blocked an attack from an enormous axe much too large for any man to wield. The main assault fought with the riders while the Fellowship was given those select beasts that made it through the Rohirrim's lines.

An Orc leaped onto him and Boromir only just managed to stick his sword upright before the weight crushed into him, knocking him to the ground. He gave a gasp of pain as his spine hit a rock and the Orc's body pushed him deeper into the ground. Lucky though he was to have reacted in time, he still had enough weight on him to keep him pinned with his arms at his sides. Twisting and wriggling to free himself, he saw Grima cut a Warg's fore paws with a quick slash of his knife, felling the beast so that he and Irlef could then kill it. Theoden was lost in the mass of battling couples. Norwerlas and Mahren were back to back, fighting outward.

Boromir managed to free his sword arm when Jorahr rode his steed forward to engage another Warg rider. The horse jumped high, but not high enough as its rear hoof knocked into Mahren's shoulder and sent him sprawling, his short sword flying out of hand. He scrambled to retrieve it when a Warg with no rider closed its terrible jaws on the small man's leg and dragged him backwards. Mahren screamed, punching and kicking at the beast, but even as he fought back, the Warg began to feast on him.

Frozen in horror, Boromir could only watch, the only one to _be_ watching as Mahren let out a blood-curdling wail of agony. His stomach was ripped open and the Warg dug its muzzle into the exposed flesh.

_Do something._

Boromir summoned strength from deep within him to push the dead Orc off of him and taking up his sword in both hands, he used a fallen Uruk-hai body to launch himself onto the Warg and stab the monster through the head. A shiver ran through the Warg's body and then it keeled sideways, jaws stained with Mahren's blood. As Boromir turned to look down at the man at his feet, an arrow whistled through the air and struck Mahren in the head.

Not twenty feet away Haldir restrung his bow.

To Boromir's left an Uruk-hai shield struck Eowyn's head, knocking her helmet off as her neck whipped sideways with the impact. The force of the blow made her drop to her knees, dazed. Grima crouched protectively over her, but Boromir did not see what happened next for just then an Uruk-hai rushed him and remembering that he had left his shield beneath the Orc, Boromir met the cleaver with his sword. He parried the next attack, ducking low to avoid another, and then cut a line across the Uruk-hai's armor but not drawing blood. With the full mite of his sword he disarmed his enemy and moved in for the final blow when a searing pain rippled across his shoulder blades. He cried out and just had time to see the Warg descend upon him before his arm was in the thing's jaws. The beast ran with him trapped in its maw so that the back of his legs scraped the ground. Through the blinding pain from both his back and his arm, Boromir felt his sword miraculously still in his hand and as the Warg jumped, Boromir used the momentum to stab it through the eye. With a mortal yelp, the Warg fell, its mouth opening so that Boromir dropped, landing on his injured side.

He could not move as his body registered shock and pain alone. And as he lay there, yet another Warg began to stalk him, sensing that its prey could not escape him. Boromir held his maimed arm in close to his body and dropped his sword. He plunged his hand into the folds of his armor, under his tunic, and his fingers found the circle of ice-cold gold. It was but the work of a moment as he slipped his finger through the Ring and saw the Warg turn into a shadowy beast of the twilight world.

Boromir stood up slowly, taking his sword now in his bloody hand and limping towards the outer circle of fighters, searching for his companions. On the outskirts he saw the king now fighting beside a young man who shared many of the same facial qualities as him. And just beyond them Grima was losing the battle in keeping the enemy away from a fallen warrior at his feet, a warrior with long flowing golden hair.

The battlefield turned blood red and with the rising sun, the Eye of Sauron found him. Boromir's grief for Eowyn triggered the Dark Lord's presence as the Ring called to its master, urging Sauron to prey upon Boromir's weaknesses.

_All will fall,_ whispered a voice in his head. _Their blood will paint the land red for leagues and you shall drown in their despair_.

Underneath his clothing, the rounded side of the Ring had glued itself to Boromir's chest and as he tugged to free it from his skin, he felt his flesh tear. His finger was likewise stuck as it had been before with the Ring unwilling and relentless to let him go. Feeling the mortal pain of his wounds binding him to the earth, Boromir wrenched his finger free and color flooded back into his world. He heard the snarl of a Warg and turned to face it when he saw the rider atop it extend its hand to him.

He reached up and his fingers clasped around Haldir's forearm. The Elf pulled him bodily up onto the mount behind him as he steered the Warg to where Grima was now battling four Uruk-hai at once. Haldir drove the Warg into two of the Uruk-hai and the beast attacked them, unwittingly snapping at its own masters. Boromir jumped off of the saddle and Haldir leapt down beside him, felling the Warg with one swipe of his curved blade. Together the two of them cut down the two remaining Uruk-hai from behind and Grima's legs gave out as he collapsed in utter exhaustion. He crawled to Eowyn who was unmoving and he shook her desperately.

"We're outnumbered," said Haldir, and then turned to Boromir in acquiescence. "You and Grima must take her and make it to the gates. I will guard your escape."

"No," said Boromir. "Not for me, you won't."

"You are my friend, Boromir, but you bear the Ring, and it is not your destiny to die on this battlefield. Go now."

A horn drowned out Boromir's defiant reply. It was another of the Rohirrim and as Boromir cast about for the source of it, Grima pointed not to Edoras, but the plains westward. Hundreds, thousands of riders flooded the countryside in a war-maddened charge to come to Edoras's aid and leading them was a man with a helmet of horse tail hair. Boromir had no Elf eyes, but he could see for himself that Eomer led his warriors to his uncle's aid.

If only they could get here quickly enough.

The enemy closed in around Boromir, Haldir, and Grima so that each of them faced at least ten Uruk-hai. Only Haldir was in any condition to fight and the Elf could not defend both of them while also guarding Eowyn. Boromir met a Uruk-hai's blade with his own and felt the contact through his arm. He kicked out at the armor plating his enemy's chest and sent it backwards into its fellows but as another took its place, Boromir knew he had used up the last of his strength. He had nothing left to give.

He roared, throwing out his mauled arm and a brilliant white light burst in front of him, blinding him to everything. When his vision cleared he saw the Uruk-hai stumbling around, clawing at their eyes and as the first recovered, an arrow took it through the eye socket. Boromir saw the rescue in all of its glory.

His brother sat astride a magnificent black horse with his bow nocked. At Faramir's side Aragorn beheaded an Orc as easily as if the skin and bone had been warm bread. And leaping from his own horse was Lord Elrond. The Elven lord landed beside Haldir and they fought their way back into the thick of the battle.

"Boromir!"

A gloved fist cracked against Boromir's skull. He swayed, dropping his sword at last and falling where he stood. Another light clouded his vision, though this was one of pain and fog. He could vaguely see what might have been a Uruk-hai bearing down on him when a rider threw himself from his horse and tackled the brutish creature. A hand grabbed him by his good arm and hauled him away.

From far away, in a limbo between worlds, Boromir felt someone cradle his head and then he passed into a realm of darkness.


End file.
